Castiel and Crowley SE2 Episode 1: Next Genesis
by WatchingOne
Summary: Season 2 of Castiel & Crowley is (finally) here! Welcome to the future...it might not be the same as how you expected it...Can Castiel & Crowley put the world back to rights? Or is this just the beginning of the descent into darkness?
1. The Next World

**The Next World**

 _Madison, Wisconsin, Present Day_

Catherine sighed. She slowly moved her foot off of the Transformer action figure that she had painfully stepped on in the darkened hallway. Alex's. She kicked it gently aside with her bare foot and padded quietly to her son's door, craning her neck slowly around the door jam to peer in at his, hopefully, sleeping form.

No such luck.

"You should be sleeping, little mister," she said in pseudo-scolding tone, smiling despite herself. Her son had the blanket pulled up in a tent over his head, and a light shone through the blanket. She heard the crinkle of paper and a Captain America comic book fell out from under the blanket to hit the floor. The light clicked off and the blanket fell. Catherine's smile broadened and she shook her head.

"Not fooling' me," she said, moving into the small bedroom. She caught herself glancing around. It was a nice, safe, room. They had just moved in a week and a half ago.

Safe.

They had promised her that her son would be safe.

She pulled the cover back. Her son lay on his side with his eyes squeezed shut, feigning a soft snore. She tousled his brown hair and tickled his neck. He squealed and wriggled away.

"Mooooommmmmm! Cut it out! I was to asleep!"

She grinned. "Not a chance", she answered, swiping up the comic and shaking it demonstratively in front of him. He pulled up the covers over his mouth and rolled his eyes.

"Mmm-Hmmm," Catherine said, tapping him with her finger on his forehead, smiling as he winced. "Sleep. Now."

"M-kay," came the muffled response. "Love you, mom:"

"Love you,too," Catherine said, twisting her mouth sarcastically as she pulled the Avengers-motive smartphone out from under the covers and waggled it in triumph. "No more comics tonight."

Alex narrowed his eyes in simulated outrage, then let out a huff and pulled his blankets the rest of the way over his head.

Catherine lowered her head and planted a kiss on the lump where his head was. "Night, night."

"Nymmft, nymmmtt," came the reply.

Catherine smiled and stood up, heading for the door.

The air turned cold, and she watched her breath condense in the air in front of her.

A low, subtle drum beat began to emanate from the kitchen; rhythmic, steady.

Cold.

"Oh…no… _no_ …mercy…no…." Catherine whispered, tears coming to her eyes. She turned back to Alex, who was suddenly sitting upright in bed.

"Mommie….what is that….is that….?"

Catherine felt cold shock run through her. She whipped her head back around towards the drumbeat, then back towards her son. She involuntarily let out a small whimper and nodded slowly.

"I'm sorry, baby…but…"

"No no no no NO NO NO NO no no no NO!" Alex cried, gathering the blankets to his chest. "It's too soon! We just got here! They PROMISED!"

Catherine blinked through the tears at her son as she felt a cool, calculating calm come over her. She looked down at her shaking hand and turned on her son's phone, pulling up the contacts list.

"They never told us _when_ , Alex...I…I need you to be strong, baby," she mumbled. She scrolled through the names until she came to one marked "Aunt Sadie".

"You need to call your Aunt. When I'm…." she swallowed hard. "Oh, God, God no….." she said, sinking to her knees.

At some point Alex had got out of his bed and was hugging her tightly. He slammed the bedroom door closed, but the drumbeat sounded through it, losing none of it's urgency. If anything, it seemed to be increasing in it's insistence.

"Honey bear, honey-bear…I….Mommy can't stay here, baby, I can't… know what will happen if I don't go now…."

Alex hugged her neck even tighter.

The drums began to pound more and more rapidly. She took in a ragged breath. If she didn't go…..she looked down at her son….no….no….she would never let that happen to Alex….

"Baby, baby, call your Aunt Sadie…." Catherine said, lending as much authority to her voice as she could possible muster. Alex leaned back and blinked at her with tear-stained eyes. Catherine peeled herself away and opened the door, her motions slow and languid, as if she was in a trance.

Somewhere behind her she heard Alex snuffling and the sound of his Smartphone dialing, the sleepy voice of her sister answering on the other end, Alex….

"Auntie Sadie….Auntie Sadie….it's Mommy, she's being Called….now….it's happening _now,_ " he whined nasally into the phone, emphasizing the last word with urgency "….what do I do….what do I do…?"

Catherine moved forward mechanically to the door in the kitchen. The door that the New Herald priests had installed just a few days ago….the door to….

She shivered and hugged herself. She had promised. Her son would live so long as she went when the New Heralds called her.

She would make the sacrifice. Her family would be allowed to live.

She.

Promised.

Her mind raced… _I just never thought it would be_ me…..

She found herself staring at the door. The symbol of a cross and a snake wreathed in flames was carved into the ashen wood. It glowed, the light pulsing in rhythm to the drumbeats.

 _Oh God…..where are you? Why have you abandoned us?_

Her hand touched the handle and the door swung easily inward, leading to seemingly nowhere.

Pure darkness faced her, purer and darker than anything she had ever seen. And inside that darkness, something _moved_.

The slimy, dark form unfolded itself from the dark, making practically no sound. She stared in mute horror as it reached out a clawed hand and grasped her arm, sending jolts of icy cold up her arm.

"Mommy?!"

"Go back to bed, baby," she heard herself muttering. "Aunt Sadie will take care of everything. Don't be….don't be scared. Can you do that for me? Don't be scared? Be like….be like Captain America….ok?"

She heard Alex sniffle and perhaps say something in agreement, but couldn't make out any of his words.

She felt like she was million miles away as the Old One grew larger and larger in front of her eyes. Her vision darkened. Sound became a low roar of noise. She closed her eyes.

 _For Alex_ …..

Her eyes snapped open as a jangling, annoying sound pierced the eerie silence.

 _Was that_ …. _the_ doorbell!?

The Old One's head swung around to the door, snapping to rapt attention, its body quivering, visibly angered at the interruption. Catherine watched as she saw Alex scamper across the floor and fling the door open, not looking at the monstrosity that loomed over his mother.

"Who are you?" she heard him ask. "Can you help us….please? My mommy….she's being Called….and it's only been a day or two, can you help my mommy?"

"Yes, actually, I believe that we can," came a gravelly response.

Catherine turned her head slowly towards the front door and away from the Old One, it's rancid breath and slavering jaws. It began to growl in warning at the pair of figures standing in her front door. She felt it's hand tighten on her forearm.

One of the men strode in through the entrance, gently moving her sobbing son to the side. "Let. Her. Go," he growled. There was a flash of something silver and a long blade appeared in his hand, produced from somewhere inside his long, tan trenchcoat. His eyes blazed white and she caught a flash of movement behind him, something that reminded her faintly of….wings? _Were those wings_?

The Old One roared in defiance and pulled Catherine closer to it. She gasped as she was suddenly completely enfolded in the iron grip of the things arms, pressed against it's wet, cold body.

"You don't listen so good, do you?" said the second man, striding forward. His was wearing an immaculate suit and tie, but his eyes burned bright red. Catherine felt her breath catch in her throat. _Was it them_? _The Heretics themselves_?

"No, no, no!" she screamed, "Stay away! If you don't let me do this….!"

The man with the red eyes rolled them in exasperation and flung out his hand with his fingers spread. Catherine felt a tug of power as suddenly she and the Old One were forcibly dragged out of the door's entrance. The one in the trench coat sprinted forward and slammed it shut, dragging his blade across the glowing symbol of the Heralds.

There was a screeching sound and a hiss of smoke as the symbol stopped pulsing. The Old One spun in anger, bellowing, shaking the walls. Catherine was flung around like a rag doll, unable to escape it's grasp.

"Oh, shut up," the red- eyed man growled, as another wave of invisible force shoved the creature back towards his partner and the closed door. It sunk it's clawed feet into the floor attempting to stop itself, tearing out long, ragged gouges in the pressed-wood floor and whipping it's head back around to snarl at the red-eyed man.

The creature let out a bellow of pain and reared it's head back as a silver tip exploded from it's chest. The man in the trench coat grabbed it around it's thick neck from behind and shoved the blade deeper into it's back. Catherine watched as spiderwebs of white fire began blossoming out from around the tip of the weapon all through the Old One's skin. Black smoke began to seep from it's pores, smelling like a sewage drain. The Old One's body tensed, and then, finally, slumped lifeless to the floor, letting out a similar hissing noise as the ruined Herald symbol.

Catherine let the arm of the Old One slip from hers, letting it fall to the floor with a wet slap. She stared down at the crature's body, dumbfounded.

"What have you done….?" she whispered, incredulous.

"I would think that'd be obvious," the man in the suit said. "A simple ‚Thank-You' might be nice."

Catherine lifted her eyes to the man and frowned. She turned to the other man and felt her shoulders slump. "You're them, aren't you? The Heretics….Castiel and Crowley."

"In the flesh," Crowley replied smugly.

"You…..you two just….killed my son…." she whispered.

"Oh come now," Crowley said, rubbing Alex's head. "Everything looks fine here, doesn't it?" He looked down at the boy and frowned. "So, tell me, how old is the little tyke, anyway?" there was an obvious hint of danger and tension in the air with his question.

Catherine paled, a new panic filling her. "No, no, please don't...don't hurt him... he was born eight years ago, truly, he's not…he's not one of….. _them_ ," she finished, looking down at the heap of dark flesh still smoking on the floor.

"Are you sure?" Crowley asked, raising his eyes to his partner.

The angel moved around Catherine and knelt in front of the boy. He gently placed two fingers on the boy's forehead and closed his own eyes. He frowned and straightened up, shaking his head.

"He's human. Not a hybrid," he said dryly.

"Well then," Crowley said, beaming. "That's that, then. What say we get you and your little certified human out of this place, shall we?"

"Do you really think that you can protect me from….them?" she said, undisguised contempt in her voice as she glanced at the ruined Herald symbol. "Everyone knows the story. The priests made it a point to tell all of the faithful. You couldn't even save your own friends from Lord Michael and Lord Lucifer."

Castiel sighed and shook his head. "I promise you, we'll keep you and your family safe. But you have to come with us. Now."

Catherine stood up numbly, not seeing an alternative. She shrugged weakly and let her hands fall back limply to her sides. "Where?"

Crowley wordlessly grabbed her hand and her house instantly disappeared around her. She found herself and Alex in a large warehouse. There were military-style cots set up all over the concrete floor, and an area that looked like a kitchen where stovetops simmered with what smelled like stew. There was an area cordoned off with police tape that had a simple sign hanging over it that read ‚Operations'. Several men with weapons of all types moved in and out of that area. A few of them tipped their caps in their direction or nodded in greeting at them as they moved by.

"Welcome," Crowley said quietly. "To the Resistance."

* * *

 _Ten months earlier - Stull Cemetery_

 _...shortly before the world ends..._

Michael raised his sword, and all of the light from the stars in the sky reflected in the blade and it began to glow with a blue-white light. Lucifer, in turn, raised his hands, trailing black smoke and brimstone from his clenched fists, the smell of fire and sulfur filling this air.

"Let's get this Apocalypse on, then, shall we? What d'ya say?"

"Dean! Dean! Can you hear me?!" Castiel shouted desperately. "Fight him! Fight! You can do it! Fight! Sam! ! You've beaten him before! You can do it again! You have to!"

"I'll only need a second, really..." Crowley snarled, raising the Staff of Moses like a rifle to his hip. "I'll split them from their vessels and then they're in for it...they'll never find another..."

"NO, CROWLEY!" Castiel shouted, spinning and grabbing the Staff, forcing its point into the ground. "You'll kill Sam and Dean!"

Crowley's brows knit together in confusion as he shook his head in disbelief. He re-focused on Castiel, glaring at him as if he were mad.

"They're already _dead_ , Castiel! Look at them!"

Castiel blinked, shaking his head in denial.

"I said LOOK AT THEM!" Crowley roared, yanking the Staff free and gesturing at the two Archangels. Michael, inhabiting Dean's body, held his sword poised to strike, hatred burning in his eyes. Lucifer, in Sam's, had his head cocked to the side, watching them curiously.

Castiel looked up slowly at Sam and Dean, and quickly shut his eyes in pain, quickly turning back to Crowley.

"No, Crowley...just...no...I can't..."

"Well, it's a good thing one of us can..." Crowley muttered, raising the Staff of Moses in both hands and pointing it directly at Michael and Lucifer.

Castiel's eyes widened in horror as a blast of sheer white-hot power shot out from the Staff, shaking the air and ground around them like a bomb had gone off.

With a grunt, Michael held up his sword with both hands in the middle of the stream of power like a shield. The fire streamed around and off to the sides. Michael lowered his shoulder and his head, struggling to deflect the blast.

"Hey Bro!" Lucifer shouted over the roar of noise, his eyes twinkling with undisguised malice. "Remember that part in that Hobbit movie when the Witch King came for Gandalf?"

"I'm sure..." Michael grunted through clenched teeth. "...that I have no idea what you are talking about..."

Lucifer rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Nerd," he muttered, holding out his hand with palm outstretched.

The Staff in Crowley's hands began to tremble and glow brighter and brighter.

" _Your Staff is broken_!" Lucifer shouted mirthfully with Sam Winchester's voice. Cobwebs of cracks erupted all over the surface of the Staff of Moses, and with a wave of force and an ear-splitting crack, it shattered into a thousand shards.

Crowley was flung backwards into a gravestone, cracking the stone. He held up his empty hands slowly, examining them in shock, before slowly raising his eyes to the Angel and Demon.

"Good luck finding another one..." Lucifer said coldly, raising his eyebrows at Crowley. His eyes glowed red and he raised his hand again. "Time to die now, 'King of Hell'. See you real soon."

Crowley felt the earth below him shift, then move aside. He looked down, frowning, seeing a hand begin to emerge from the ground. He spun his head around, looking for what he hoped was the miracle that he was waiting for.

His mouth twisted into a grin. Lucifer cocked his head, his hand lowering.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh nothing," Crowley growled. "It's just that it appears that the cavalry has just arrived."

Lucifer and Michael stepped back as one and scanned around them. The Heralds emerged from the shadows and fell into a tight, protective defensive circle around the pair.

The earth around them erupted as bodies began to claw their way free from their graves. They moaned in a gruesome symphony and began to shamble forward.

"Leon..." the Herald Sarah said sardonically, her mouth twisting into a malicious smile. "Oh, _please_. Come on out where we can see you, loser!" she shouted. "Or did you really think a few zombies are going to stop us?"

"They ain't there to stop you, bitch," Leon's voice called out from somewhere in the darkness. "They're there to distract you."

"Distract...?"

"Now!" came another shout from the sky directly above the group of Heralds, Michael and Lucifer.

Three forms landed with a jolting crash that shook the earth in their midst, scattering them to the ground. Only Michael and Lucifer kept their feet, leaping deftly back a few feet to gain some distance.

Michael's eyes narrowed. "Gabriel...well, of course, that figures...and Issiah? Obidiah? Don't tell me that you have thrown in your fate with this lot..."

Issiah flashed his teeth, hands grasping a glowing Angelic broadsword. "Michael, you have gone mad!"

"Look at yourself! You speak of throwing our fate away, and you...you have aligned yourself with the Most Foul!" Obidiah shouted, gesturing with his own sword at Lucifer, fury in his eyes. "You would wage war against your own kin, against the Holy Throne itself!"

"That Throne _abandoned_ me to my fate," Michael growled, his sword glowing. "I am simply taking the next logical action, and re-claiming my rightful place in Heaven." He shrugged nonchalantly. "And since it appears that Father doesn't want to occupy that aforementioned Throne anyway, I might as well take it for myself."

"And what if He does want that?" Gabriel said, leveling his stare at Michael. "What if He never really left it in the first place? Rather worked His will in an indirect way?"

Michael sneered. "Then, dear brother, I would suggest that He, and anyone else that still continues to do His will, get the hell out of our way."

The Heralds had regained their feet and were standing to Michael and Lucifer's sides, spread out in a V-formation, Angel Blades held high.

"My Heralds!" Michael cried out in a commanding, booming voice. "The New Dawn is upon is all! This Archangel here," he said pointing his sword in Gabriel's direction. " is the last key standing between us and our access to the power of Creation itself!" A wind came up, and despite the continuous groan and shuffling footsteps of the army of Undead that Leon had summoned, the night grew unusually still.

"Kill him," Michael whispered.

The Heralds and their Masters rushed forward at the Angels, swords flashing. Gabriel and his two companions danced back from the furious assault, swords countering in glowing archs that rang out into the night air like crashes of thunder. They fell further and further back as the Heralds pressed relentlessly forward, leading them into the wall of zombies.

All Hell broke loose.

The zombies began grasping, biting and clawing at the enemy. The Heralds dispatched them quickly enough, their superior strength and speed more than enough to dismantle the individual attackers and small groups, but the numbers began to overwhelm even the group of Archangels – there was simply too much mass there. The Heralds began to find themselves separated into islands of furious melees, losing their coordinated and focused attack formation.

Castiel had rushed to Crowley when the fight erupted, helping him to his feet. He gritted his teeth and stared into the fight, eyes narrowing.

"We've got to get in there, protect Gabriel..." he hissed, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. "What is he even _doing_ here? Doesn't he know what will happen if they destroy him?"

Crowley nodded in agreement. "We've got to get him out of there..." He squinted at the fight, grunting as he took a hesitant step forward. He arched an eyebrow at Castiel. "Any ideas as to _how_ we're to accomplish that minor miracle?"

"By staying out of it and coming with me," a voice said from behind them. Crowley and Castiel spun to face Jesse, who was watching the fight intensely. He nodded and then met Castiel and Crowley's eyes. "Trust me, he's got this."

Castiel arched an eyebrow in question. "'Got this'? 'Got this' how?"

Jesse smiled. "Superior firepower. Now c'mon, we can't stay here..."

Hesitantly, and with several looks back, Castiel and Crowley followed Jesse back to where David was waiting with a half-conscious Rowena.

"Oh. Good. _You_ made it." Crowley said dryly, looking down at his mother. She returned his look with a half-hearted smile.

"Now, now lamb, be nice to your escape route," she said, drawing lines in the packed earth.

"A portal?" Crowley asked, frowning at her work. "A portal to where?"

"The hell out of here, for starters," Rowena grunted. "Or did you want to stick around here with Mega-Sam and Dean?" She shook her head. "Oh you really screwed the pooch with that one, lamb."

"Yeah, well, they kind of blind-sided us with 'that one', mother," Crowley mumbled. "Won't happen again." He frowned. "And why do we need to flee anyway? I thought we had 'superior firepower'."

Rowena glanced up at David and Jesse with a look of concern and doubt on her face. Jesse shook his head. "We do. Kind of. It's...unreliable..."

"Wait just a minute...unreliable how?" Crowley asked. "What exactly do you have here?"

Back in the combat zone, Michael and Lucifer cut through huge swaths of zombies as if they were barely there, closing in on the retreating Angels, moving farther and farther away from the swarmed-under Heralds. They eventually broke through a solid wall of zombies and found themselves face-to-face across an open area from Gabriel and the two Angels.

"Out of room, out of time, out of copies, too, Gabriel, if I'm reading your energy signature correctly. Looks just like it was when you were newly minted. Not a single piece missing." Michael said dangerously, advancing forward.

"Well, can't fault you for being inaccurate," Gabriel smirked. "But it's not us that's out of time, 'bro'."

Michael smiled widely. " I will enjoy severing that apish head from that body of yours, Gabriel, and taking that ridiculous grin with it. You never could take a thing seriously. Even your own death, it seems."

"And you always were, and still are, a gigantic bag of dicks, Michael," Gabriel shot back. He cupped his hands around his mouth and turned away. "NOW!"

Issiah and Obidiah simultaneously crouched down, turning their heads away.

"What...?" Lucifer said, frowning.

A girl ran out from the behind them, carrying a ridiculously huge elaborately carved, golden chest, supported by two wooden poles, carrying it as if weighed nothing. She slammed it to the ground and in one motion pulled one the staves free and swung it at the golden chest's lid, knocking it to the ground. She also turned away, covering her head.

"Kinsey...?!" Michael said, puzzled.

"Wait...is that...?" Lucifer asked.

"Ark of the Covenant, bitches," Kinsey said from behind the chest. "Told 'em I could carry it..."

"Brother! Turn away!" Michael screamed, ducking and flinging himself into an ungainly sprint across the field.

"Too late..." Lucifer whispered, watching in morbid fascination as the swirling mist rose from Ark, coalescing into Angelic forms wielding swords. One faced him, turning it's head to the side.

"Luuuuuccciiiiffffeeerrrrr..." it howled, the air itself freezing as it's breath touched it.

The world around Lucifer and Micheal exploded.

The three Angels and Kinsey scrambled away in the opposite direction, heading to the per-arranged meeting place. After what seemed like an eternity dashing past the ghostly, dark forms of headstones in the night, they reached Rowena and the rest of their group.

"What happened? Did it work?" Jesse asked.

"Oh, it didn't _not_ work, Gabriel answered, eyebrows raised. "As to how _well_ it worked, we'll have to find that out later, I'm afraid. Right now, I suggest that it's vamanoose time."

Castiel shook his head. "The Ark of the Covenant, Gabriel? That is..."

"Pure Wrath of God, Castiel, I know. The good part is, even _if_ it didn't manage to kill Michael and Lucifer, we can be sure that they can't take it for themselves."

"How's that?" Crowley asked.

"They're part Demon now, "Gabriel replied, grimacing. "Both of 'em" He shook his head. "They can''t wield it."

"Wait a second, Kinsey just did," Castiel protested. "She got her power from them."

Gabriel grinned. "Yeah, well, let me tell you something. Whatever evil she may or may not have had in her before? She's definitely on the side of the Angels now." Kinsey smiled. Gabriel frowned and looked up at Rowena. "How's that portal coming?"

"Almost there..." Rowena answered, brow furrowed in concentration.

An enormous howl of rage erupted from the center of the cemetery. The trees around them shook and the gravestones themselves shattered.

"GAABBBRRRRIIIEEELLLL!" Michael's voice boomed into the air. Blue and red fire snaked out in all directions, racing across the ground towards them.

"Not to put too fine a point on it, Rowena, but _now_ might be a good time..." Gabriel said quietly, gulping.

The portal opened and they all fell through it. It snapped shut quickly behind them as the fire reached it, decimating everything around it, burning even the air itself.

* * *

The Roman Cartaphilus stopped in the street and frowned to himself, turning his head slowly back towards the cafe he had just passed.

 _It cannot be_...

His pace quickened and he strode through the door, scanning the customers. His eyes rested on the long-haired, bearded man sitting in the booth sipping tea and felt his mouth open involuntarily in dumbfounded wonder.

 _It cannot be_...

He moved swiftly towards the man, bodily shoving the waitress aside, her scream of protest ignored. The man looked up, surprised. Cartaphilus, not stopping, reached out and grabbed the mans arms, desperately scanning them.

They were muscled and hairy, but bore no mark...

Cartaphilus looked helplessly into the other man's eyes, his jaw working.

"Ca...Cain...?!"

A look of recognition flashed across Cain's face, and it drained of blood in shock and horror.

"No...you...Cartaphilus...no...please...old friend...please..."

Cartaphilus dropped 'Cain's' arms and numbly stepped back.

"Who... _what_... are you...?" he muttered, drawing his sword, ignoring the raucous shouts and scrambling of the customers behind him.

'Cain's' eyes widened as he started to rise. "no...no...please..."

The Roman's sword darted out in a flash, cutting the throat of the man before him. He watched in disbelief as the body dropped to the floor. Cartaphilus blinked several times, then walked over and nudged the body over with his boot. He stared down at the lifeless face of Cain, feeling a cold dread racing through his body.

"What is going _on here_...?!" he asked rhetorically, teeth clenched. He spun at the rapidly emptying cafe and sheathed his sword. He walked out of the door as the police car pulled up. He barely broke stride as the officer ordered him to stop, and subsequently fired his weapon into his back. With a snarl of impatience and rage, he stared back at the policeman until the officer dove back into his car, shouting desperately for back-up into his radio.

The Mark.

 _Where was the Mark_?!

* * *

The man chained to the wet concrete wall raised his grizzled head slowly, once more reading the symbols and runecrafting in his prison. He shook his head in helplessness.

Of course they were perfect. Of course there was no flaw.

What else would he have expected?

He stared down at his arm hanging from the runed manacles.

The Mark glowed and pulsed in the dark.


	2. Fruition

**Fruition**

 _Between Light and Darkness_

Atropos looked down the line of incalculable destinies, timelines and dimensions and breathed heavily.

Masterful.

Absolutely masterful.

She couldn't see a single flaw in Lucifer and Michael's manipulations. Every dimension, every possibility measured and weighed, all setting up the world exactly the way they wanted it.

Almost _all_ worlds, actually.

She frowned as another dimension turned towards their will. They were gathering power at impossible rates. With how they were going, they'd have more power than God Himself before anyone could stop them.

Which brought up the next question...

Who in all of Creation _could_ actually stop them?

She would have to consult with her sisters, Clotho and Lachesis. With the three of them combined, perhaps they could...

She stopped, a chill running down her spine. She had...she had the feeling that something was _watching_ her...she turned her eyes to the threads of Destiny, searching for the disturbance.

There was nothing.

She pondered that _nothing_...then turned around and regarded the vast darkness of eternity.

She stared into the void, and something began to _move_...

In a rush, something vast rumbled in a deep, warning growl. She watched the darkness swirl and sway, the Threads of Destiny shaking with it's passing. She flung herself against them in a panic, feeling it's cold, wet breath, the sheer size of it's passing shaking her to the bones. She desperately grasped at the solid wall of Threads, scrambling back.

A pair of eyes, the size of moons appeared in the dark, pure malice in it's eyes as it regarded her.

Those eyes were then joined by others, blinking into view all around her. Her jaw dropped and her head swung around from side to side, trying desperately to view it all.

Thousands of them...thousands watching her...no...not thousands of monsters...

 _One_.

One, enormous, impossible being.

With a scream that threatened to drive her mad with it's intensity, the monstrous creature swirled like a galaxy-sized fan and melted back into the darkness, the eyes blinking away one by one until everything was still again.

Atropos gasped, breathing heavily, her heart racing.

 _What was that_...?

Her mind raced, then, with a slow, horrible, realization, she turned back to Threads, regarding Lucifer and Michael's actions once more.

But...no...no the Gate was _still up_.

Nothing could get through it while it was still up.

Unless...

She bit her lip and lowered her head. Of course.

Six of the Seven Archangels were dead. Only Gabriel remained.

They had weakened the Gate. Weakened it immensely. Nothing could get through it while it was still closed, of course. God had created it to keep the Darkness trapped.

Nothing except something that was actually powerful enough to force it's way through a weakened Gate.

An Old One. A true Old One.

More precisely, one of the Outer Gods themselves.

She need her sisters. Immediately.

She wondered if even that would be enough.

* * *

 _The Resistance – Present Day_

Castiel looked over at Crowley, frowning.

They were meeting with the hunter group leaders, and all of the reports were matching.

"It appears that Michael and Lucifer are speeding up their hybrid breeding all across the board," one of the hunters, Trent, was saying. "That woman that you rescued..."

"Catherine," Castiel muttered.

"Excuse me?" Trent asked, looking up.

"Her name is Catherine. And her son's name is Alex."

"Yeah, well, whatever..."

"No, not 'whatever'," Castiel shot back, annoyed. "If we lose sight of who we're fighting for..."

Crowley put a hand on his shoulder and guided him gently, but firmly away.

"Castiel, a word, if you please."

"What...?"

"A. Word, Castiel," Crowley replied firmly, smiling tightly at Trent and the rest of the the hunters.

As soon as they were out of voice range, Castiel spun on Crowley.

"You want to tell me what this is all about, Crowley?"

"Well, yes. _You_ , actually," Crowley replied smoothly, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Me...?" Castiel replied, confused. "What about 'me'?"

"You're strung out, Castiel."

Castiel sighed impatiently and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. "Oh, no, _really_ , Crowley? And why would I be 'strung-out', would you say? Is it because Michael and Lucifer have taken over the entire universe and are in the process of eradicating humanity? Or is it that they are doing this walking around in the bodies of two of the people I care about most in the world? Which one, do you think, is it that has me so 'strung out"?!"

Crowley smiled patiently. "See my point?"

"Crowley..."

"It's not for _you_ , Castiel," Crowley broke in. "It's for everyone else." He looked over Castiel's shoulder. "We're on the brink, here. We have no plan. We're a firebreak right now. That means, morale is a factor." He shrugged. "It was never an issue with Demons. They just do as they're told. Or I eviscerated them. Morale was the _last_ thing on my mind...but we have humans to deal with, Castiel...and that means...well..." His brow furrowed. "Well, I'm no expert, but it's the opposite of what you're doing, Castiel."

Castiel closed his eyes and sighed, shoulders slumping. He ran a hand over his face and rubbed his eyes. "Speaking of having no plan..."

"I've been working on that, actually," Crowley answered.

"And?"

"And, I need to work out why Lucifer and Michael have sped up their hybrid breeding."

Castiel frowned. "It doesn't make a lot of sense, on that point, you're right. The hybrids are basically Michael's final solution to eliminating free will. He wants to eventually put them in charge of the 'faithful' remnants of the human race, and in turn, the fear and nightmares of those humans will fuel them. ThenMichael and Lucifer can wield the power of Light of Darkness simultaneously, feeding off of the dual souls of their hybrids. Theoretically, if they can do that, they'd become more powerful than God, mirroring His Creation in both Light and Darkness."

"And how will the Old Ones feel about that, I wonder?" Crowley mused.

"By that time, it wouldn't matter," Castiel answered. "Michael and Lucifer would have leached too much power away from them and taken it for themselves." He paced away to a large map of the world set up on a pinboard near the command center. Several pins were sticking in areas that Michael and Lucifer had firmly in grip. They were going after cities and large population centers first, it seemed. "They could gain more power if they were able to summon more powerful Old Ones to manifest here. That one we destroyed at Catherine's house was barely a foot-soldier. But for that, they'd need to kill Gabriel, unlocking the Gate."

"How is he, by the way?"

Castiel stiffened, but didn't look at him. "Hidden. And as we discussed..."

"Castiel...I'm not going to..."

Castiel turned his head, narrowing his eyes. "I know, Crowley. But, at the same time..."

"...you don't..." Crowley answered in a whisper. "Look, I get not trusting me, Castiel. Believe me. _I_ don't even trust me..."

"Then there's nothing more to discuss regarding Gabriel," Castiel said, watching him intensely.

Castiel returned the gaze, something like understanding in his eyes. That, and disappointment. "I'm just saying, that my strategies are immensely more effective when I have _all_ of the information..."

"Not this."

Crowley blew out a breath, "Ok. Fine. You win. Gabriel stays hidden. But we need to work on this trust issue of ours..." Castiel watched him for a few seconds more, then nodded and turned back to the map.

"I...will admit, your network of Demons is unexpectedly effective in getting us information on Michael and Lucifer's activities..." Castiel grunted grudgingly. "Otherwise, we'd be almost blind."

Crowley nodded, moving next to him to regard the map. "That's just it, though, isn't it? All we're doing is reacting. We need to get a _win_ , here Castiel. A real , solid, serious, real win..."

Castiel snorted. "Remaining alive isn't enough of a miracle for you?"

"No, Castiel. And it isn't enough for _them_ either," he said, tilting his head in the direction of the command center. "We're leaking hope here like a sieve."

Castiel sighed. "Well, maybe my people have something."

Crowley shook his head. "You mean the twenty or so Angels left who haven't turned in their halos to Michael and Lucifer?"

Castiel cast his eyes towards the floor. "They're...they're enough, Crowley. They _have_ to be enough...", he replied, his voice sad, barely a whisper.

As if on cue, a flash of light and activity erupted in a corner of the warehouse. Several runes in the floor began glowing, and shapes began moving in the light they produced. Five figures stepped out of the light into the warehouse, glancing around. They spotted Castiel, nodded at him, and headed in his direction.

"Speak of the devil..." Crowley muttered.

"Speak for yourself, instead, Demon," one of the Angels responded, shooting a scornful glance at Crowley. He nodded at Castiel again.

"And?"

"And...we have them..." the Angel answered. He waved his arm and indicated the portal that they had just appeared out of. Several more figures appeared within it and began to enter the warehouse. They were dressed in various garbs from around the world, and a few of them regarded the warehouse with obvious skepticism or outright contempt.

"Is that...?" came a voice from behind them. A rapid click-clacking of high heels rang out on the concrete floor as Rowena came scurrying up. Crowley rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Mother, it appears that our feathered friends here have come through," he grumbled. "I suppose I lost a bet..." He squinted at the people that had come through the portal and looked back at the Angels. "Is that all of them?"

The lead Angel looked at Crowley, a sneer on his face. "Yes, Demon, that's all of them..."

"Witches..." another Angel practically spat.

" _Mega-Coven_..." Rowena whispered reverently, her eyes twinkling in naked anticipation.

"I hope it will be worth the trouble, Rowena," Castiel said. "We wasted a lot of time and resources to round them up."

"Oh, it will lamb, it will, " Rowena practically squealed. "Once we get started...well, I wouldn't want to be Michael and Lucifer, if ye catch my meaning."

Castiel regarded her and nodded stiffly. "Well, Crowley. Maybe this will turn out to be that 'win' you were talking about."

Crowley grunted.

"That all depends."

"On what?"

Rowena ran over to the witches and began to hurriedly introduce herself, shaking hands and even hugging some of them with a broad grin on her face.

Crowley let out a deep breath. "Well, I feel absolute dread at having to say this...but it appears that it will all depend on _her_..."

* * *

The Roman woke up in a cold sweat, sitting bolt upright and gathering up the soaked sheets to his chest, looking down at them confused, then tossing them aside with a snarl.

His nightmare. The same one that had been plaguing him for a month.

He walked through room after room, the dead, lifeless eyes of hundreds upon hundreds of 'Cains' staring up at him from mangled corpses.

How many had he killed in the last few weeks?

What _were_ they?

They weren't Cain, that much was certain, the Roman had realized. Someone was spoiling the trail.

 _Deliberately_ spoiling the trail.

He grunted and swiped the sweat from his brow. He got out of bed and walked to the hotel sink, splashing warm water over his face. He looked into the mirror before he realized that he had done so...

 _…_ _.a dim cell...a whip...a bloody, beaten, thin and starved body wearing a crudely fashioned crown of thorns, pressed into his forehead...the Spear in his hands later in the dusty plain...the sound of it piercing his side...the flash of hot blood from the Son on his face..._

Cartaphilus stumbled back from the mirror, turning his head away and slamming his arm against it's surface, shattering it into a hundred pieces. He took several deep breaths and steadied himself.

It had been over two thousand years ago. He literally hadn't been able to even look at himself for more than _two thousand years_...

And now someone or somet _hing_ was keeping him from his rightful end.

It was the two _abominations_...he was sure of it by now. They had Cain stashed away somewhere, hidden from him. Keeping the Darkness from being unleashed upon the world. Taunting him with shadows of Cain, leading him around by the nose...

He snarled and grabbed his still sheathed sword, and began bludgeoning the items in the hotel room into timber, cursing in a language that had been dead for centuries.

When he was finished, his head was clearer. He stood in the center of the room, chest heaving, sweat dripping onto the thinly carpeted floor. He moved over to the drawn curtain of the hotel window and peered around outside.

He was deep in Michael and Lucifer's territory now. Their new so-called 'Everlasting Kingdom'. He clenched his teeth and threw the curtain closed.

 _Everlasting_...

Their perpetual kingdom would never allow the Apocalypse...the _true_ Apocalypse to happen.

His death...his well deserved, and too-long delayed death would _never_ come if those two abominations had their way.

"Well, we'll just have to see about that, then, won't we?" he hissed in a whisper.

He threw his belongings together into a backpack and dressed himself, hiding his gladius underneath his long coat. He walked outside and squinted into a blood-red sun.

"After all, it wouldn't be the first time I've killed a God."


	3. Reset

**Reset**

Castiel's room in the warehouse that served as the headquarters of the Resistance was in many ways the very definition of spartan.

There was a simple bed with a used and lumpy, utilitarian mattress, neatly made ip with military corners, and a small writing desk with a wooden chair pushed up snugly underneath it. On its surface were a few Tomes rescued from the ruins of Heaven, neatly closed with tabs sticking out at precise angles to mark some pages. There was a shabby throw rug covering the cold concrete floor, and a worn rocking chair facing a nightstand with a few clothes drawers. It had a small LCD television on it. There were no pictures hung, no plants, no decorations of any kind. It was a drab, cold, simple room, not unlike a prison cell.

The TV was on. Castiel sat half slumped in the chair, a two-week old growth on his chin, his hair disheveled, his trenchoat hanging over the edges of the chair.

He glanced down with red-rimmed, bleary eyes at the remote on his hand and pressed rewind. Again.

He barely noticed the knock on his room's door , and didn't turn to look when it opened.

"I can't believe you're still watching that," Crowley's voice said from behind him. Castiel grunted in acknowledgment, watching the images on the TV stream by in reverse.

"Are you actually looking for clues," Crowley continued, " or just adding more fuel to your downward spiral into unrecoverable melancholy?"

Castiel let go of the rewind button, a wave of anger and annoyance rushing over him. He half turned back towards Crowley in the entrance.

"I suppose that you have a better idea?" he grunted, the sarcasm evident in his voice.

He heard Crowley take a couple of steps further into the room, shutting the door behind him.

He saw him walk over to the bed and sit down on it, facing him, clasping his hands in front of him.

"How about...anything but this?" Crowley answered, flicking his gaze over to the screen, frowning. "I'm actually physically afraid to ask how many hours you've spent in the last ten months watching this."

Castiel stared at Crowley for a few seconds, anger still boiling up inside of him, then cast his gaze quickly down at the floor, feeling the knuckles in his left hand tightening around the arm of the chair.

"What do you care what I do with my free time?"

Crowley leaned a little closer. "Free time? _Free time_ , Castiel?" he asked, incredulous. "In case you haven't noticed the turn of recent events, I don't recall anyone here being allotted 'free time', least of all you and I."

"Because we're the ones that caused all of this?" Castiel snorted. He looked back up at Crowley.

Crowley narrowed his eyes. "Is that what you think?" he asked, disbelief creeping into his tone. "Are you feeling guilty, Castiel? You're blaming yourself for this?"

Castiel smiled wryly. "Oh no you don't," he said. Crowley watched him, waiting. Castiel looked back down at the remote and then held it up to the television, hitting play.

"I blame you too," he whispered.

The screen flickered a bit as the images began moving forward.

It was a newscast running on the night that they confronted Michael and Lucifer in Kansas.

It didn't matter where the recording had come from. Since what was about to happen next had occurred simultaneously world-wide on every broadcast, in every language – even during bluray playbacks or movie theater screens. Every Smartphone, every electronic billboard. Even some smart refrigerators and microwaves. If it had a screen – this is what had happened. This is what it had showed.

Dean and Sam's face , with a field of streaming, flaming stars behind them flashed onto the screen.

 _No_ , Castiel reminded himself for seemingly the millionth time. _Not Sam and Dean. Not Sam and Dean at all_.

Michael and Lucifer.

Sam and Dean were dead.

Michael smiled. "Hello people of the world. We bring you...great tidings," his brother said gently, a smile spreading on his face.

"Hola, mi amigos!" Lucifer said next to him, grinning like a madman with Sam's face. He leaned towards the camera, frowning. "Is...is this thing on?" he said, tapping on the screen in front of him.

Michael smiled tightly. "For too many years, no, millenia now, the universal question of 'Is there a God?' has gone unanswered. And do you know why?" He leaned closer to the camera. Castiel scanned Dean's eyes, looking for anything. Once again – anything. A flicker of resistance. A flicker of light. A sign. A portent. Any evidence whatsoever that he...that he was still in there, still fighting. Still...alive.

But instead, he saw what he always saw as Michael continued.

He saw nothing but, cold, black, hatred and calculating, cool madness.

It was only Michael now.

Dean was _gone_. Just...

Castiel closed his eyes, familiar pain washing over him. The audio from the video continued, relentlessly.

"The answer is simple. There _was_ a God," Michael snarled into the camera. "There was a God and He abandoned you. He abandoned _us_. _All_ of us."

Castiel opened his eyes, forcing himself to keep watching.

"But you know what?" Lucifer continued as Michael stared into the camera, hatred burning in his eyes. "Doesn't matter." He shrugged. "Screw that deadbeat. And do you know why it doesn't matter?"

"Because we are here for you now," Michael answered, his voice tender, soothing, in stark contrast to the intense look on Dean's...no, _Michael's_ face. "My brother and I have taken stewardship of all of His Creation, and we will supplant him."

"New management!" Lucifer gleefully chimed in in the background, clapping his hands together once and rubbing them together vigorously.

Michael nodded solemnly. "I am the Sword of God. His most trusted. I am known by many of you as the Archangel Michael. I was the beacon and the force of Light."

"And me...weeeeelllllll, you all know me..." Lucifer said leaning in. "I bet that you can guess my name."

Michael smiled tightly. "Lucifer was the First, and most beloved of our Father's creations. Of His Angels. And God cast him down. He was the very first...to be abandoned."

"Unjust. That's all I'm sayin'," Lucifer said, shaking his head. "But hey, I'm not here to plead my case. That's a moot point now."

"My brother is my equal," Michael picked up. "We are no longer Light and Darkness, Good and Evil. We are simply..."

"...in charge," Lucifer hissed. "And for those of you out there thinking – 'Hey! I am no subscriber to all of this Judeo-Christain nonsense!', hey, I feel ya'. But, I'm sorry to inform you, fact is this, we're the biggest and the baddest out there among the Celestial-Crew, so...it doesn't really matter anymore _what_ you believe, or don't believe, we're a _fact_." He shrugged and feigned a pout. "Sorry about that."

"So, allow me to be the first to welcome you to the Faith," Michael said, spreading his arms out wide. "No more absentee landlords. No more unanswered prayers. We are your Gods now." He leveled a steady gaze at the screen. "But..."

"Always a catch..." Lucifer grinned, wagging a finger.

"Make no mistake. This is a mutual partnership, the human race and us," Michael continued.

"There are duties to fulfill in your faith. A price to be paid for our new paradise of earth." Lucifer held up his hand with his thumb and forefinger pinching together, indicating a very small amount. "You see, Father had a reason in creating you. He wanted you to 'create' as well." Michael shrugged. "The truth is that every human mind can create worlds upon worlds in and of itself. Every soul can imagine wonders that even God Himself cannot imagine. The art, books, plays, wars, loves that you live and breathe, that is the power of human soul, and believe me when I tell you this, it is vast..."

"Huuuuge," Lucifer mocked.

"And we are going to be needing to borrow from that power to maintain our new paradise. We are...eliminating the war between darkness and light by merging the two. Wielding the powers of both. A perfect balance. Unmatched power. And Peace. Finally, Eden. But for that, we are asking for a sacrifice. You see there are other things that a human can generate. Things just as powerful as love and dreams..."

"Nightmares and fear..." Lucifer whispered, his eyes going wide in a mockery of terror.

"Our faithful priests will be coming to your neighborhoods soon. They will be bringing the Word with them. They will be bringing the Law. I suggest that you listen...because, as generous as we are, we can also be..."

"Not. So. Generous," Lucifer finished, his tone changing from gleeful and playful to dangerous and warning.

"You see, we are as Father created us, in the end, " Michael said, shrugging. "There is no changing that, despite our current actions. And we are soldiers of Heaven. And if any of you are familiar with your Old testament, that makes us...rather volatile and dangerous if we are defied." Michael leaned to within inches of the camera, his green eyes filling the screen. "And make no mistake, we are no fools. We know with absolute certainty that some of you out there are contemplating resisting us even now. Fighting us. Exercising that damnable free will that Father infused into all of you." He leaned back. "You can't help it, it's in your nature. But what I've found about nature is this: It can be tamed."

Michael paced back to stand side by side with Lucifer. "I am...sorry for what we are about to do. But it is, truly, for your own good. A...preventative measure. A first lesson, if you will, in taming that rebellious nature of yours." He sighed. "For any group that seeks to resist us, and not obey our priests, that brings harm unto them or unto the faithful, that will not accept the new Eternal Paradise...know that our power is now absolute, and that your fate will be...swift." He closed his eyes and bowed his head. "Brother...where shall we do this?"

Lucifer scratched his chin in thought, then nodded to himself and grinned.

"Toledo," he answered solemnly.

Michael opened his eyes and frowned. "Why Toledo?"

"Oh c'mon!" Lucifer exhaled suddenly animated, flinging his arms over his head. "Just listen to the sound of that city's name...' _Toledo_ '" he said, pronouncing the word like it was disgusting. He shivered in mock disgust. " Oh, yeah, horrible. Believe me, they got it comin'."

Michael shook his head. "I suppose it hardly matters, the actual place..." he muttered. Castiel opened his eyes. He watched, the horror building as if it had just happened, not ten months ago, the despair, the helplessness striking him anew like a physical thing, not allowing him to breathe.

Michael and Lucifer's eyes began to glow. There was a whine of Angelic feedback and the stars around them began to shake for several seconds. The camera switched over to a live satellite feed over Toledo, Ohio's night sky.

A bright, impossibly wide beam of darkened, brimstone smoke and white light burst from the heavens and struck the ground with a earth shattering roar. The camera shook and vibrated for what seemed like an eternity, but, in actuality, was only a few seconds.

The light disappeared.

Where Toledo had once stood, there was...nothing. Not even smoke and ruin. Just an impossible, wide, scorched, blackened field extending to the shores of a calm Lake Eerie.

Castiel closed his eyes again.

Almost three-quarter of a million souls.

Gone.

On a whim.

In an instant.

Such was his failure.

The screen had switched back to Michael and Lucifer. Both of them stood staring at the camera stoically, seriously and deadly.

"Please, new members of our Eternal Paradise. Please maintain the New Faith. We need you as you need us. Look into your loved one's and children's eyes, and realize that working with us to craft a new paradise is the right choice. Please...don't force us to repeat this."

The video switched back to a silent and stunned newsroom. Castiel's thumb automatically moved back to the rewind button.

"Castiel."

The screen blurred by.

"Castiel!"

The angel opened his eyes and looked over wearily at Crowley.

"What?" he asked tonelessly.

Crowley leaned back. "So this is how it's going to be?"

Castiel didn't answer, just looked back down at the remote and the play button.

Crowley knocked it out of his hands. It clattered onto the concrete floor.

Castiel blinked in surprise, fury rising in him. He stood up, eyes blazing.

"Go on! Do it! Strike me down!" Crowley bellowed, thumping his palms against his chest. "Anything to get a bloody rise out of you, to get you out of this damned room!"

Castiel took a dangerous step forward, then tilted his head, considering. His eyes dimmed down, and his shoulders slumped. He shuffled back to his rocking chair and sunk into it.

"Get out of here, Crowley," he said quietly, scooping up the remote from the floor.

Crowley blinked at him, then nodded, his jaw clenching. He turned back towards the door and opened it, stepping outside.

Then, he raised his hand, eyes blazing red.

The television let out a groan of protest and belched out black smoke, it's screen cracking.

Castiel stood, jaw agape as he turned towards Crowley.

"You..."

"...am doing you a damned favor," Crowley snarled. "Yeah, I'll go. But so should you, Castiel." He leveled a venomous stare at the angel. "Look, I get it...you want to shoulder all of this on us. You want to say that we are responsible for all of this, for not being able to stop them, for not being the heroes like Sam and Dean were, for...losing them...I'm not completely obtuse, either, I know what they meant to you Castiel, and I am not ignoring that fact. I know what that means to you to have them taken away from you like this. Believe me, I am an _expert_ in things that cause deep pain..."

Castiel watched him, that aforementioned pain building in his eyes. Crowley nodded.

"But that's horsecrap, Castiel!" Crowley spit. "This is _Mich_ e _al_ and _Lucifer's_ fault! No one else's! And if you can't see that and want to go on blaming us for their actions, that's your prerogative, and I can't stop you. But if you want to give up, if you truly think that there's no hope left and would rather wallow in here at all hours reliving your self-pity over and over, then, yes, please, get the hell out of here. Because I can't use you." He stopped, chest heaving in anger. He threw out his arm, pointing back towards the warehouse's main floor. "Because I've got a airplane hanger _full to the brim_ of people out there that _do_ believe that this isn't over. That Michael and Lucifer can still be stopped. And yes, maybe can save Sam and Dean as well. And if you aren't one of them, if you are honestly, truly _beaten_ , Castiel, then I suggest that you take it somewhere else." He grunted and straightened his jacket. "Because I could use the bloody space," he snarled, then stalked away, leaving the door opened.

Castiel watched the empty doorway for a long time.

He finally looked down at his hand, which was still loosely holding the remote.

He pointed it at the TV and hit 'play'. It crackled and let out another belch of smoke. He let the control fall out of his hand to the floor.

Castiel closed his eyes, standing in the middle of his room. After a while, his shoulders began to shake.

With a roar of pure rage, he sprung at the TV, sweeping it off the stand, sending it crashing violently into the wall. It broke into pieces that scattered all over the room.

Castiel, breathing hard, turned around the room slowly, regarding the simple surroundings.

He flipped the bed over, then, spinning, brought his fist down and through the writing table, scattering the books. He blinked.

He had hit it so hard, his fist had literally gone through the table and cracked the concrete.

He growled and slammed his fist into the brick wall nearest to him, over and over again, large chunks of masonry flying out from around his fist, the impact of his fists rining out like wrecking balls all around him. He continued until his arm burned in exhaustion and his chest heaved.

He stepped back, regarding the truck-sized hole and blinked down at the bloody mess of his fist.

He stumbled over to where the remote control lay in the middle of the floor and picked it up, holding it front of his face, Crowley's words echoing in his head.

"… _.if you are honestly, truly_ beaten _, Castiel, then I suggest that you take it somewhere else_..."

He closed his eyes and took a deep, ragged breath.

His fist tightened around the controller, crushing it.

He let it drop to the floor and opened his eyes, staring out into the hallway leading to the Resistance's headquarters.

He straightened the collar of his trenchcoat, and strode out of the small room.

* * *

Chuck woke with a groan of pain, sweat beading on his forehead. He groaned again and rubbed his forehead, the migraine making him grit his teeth against the pain.

He heard the plink of a glass being set down on the table in front of the couch where he had been sleeping and opened one eye.

Charlie smiled tightly at him and glanced down at the glass.

"Whiskey and aspirin is the prescription, big guy," she smiled.

Chuck groaned and grabbed the glass and pills.

"Thanks, you're so good to me," he muttered, gulping down the alcohol and tablets in one motion. He grimaced and shook his head slowly, instantly regretting it as pain flashed across his face.

"Ow," he said simply, putting the glass back down and swinging his legs over to a sitting position, lowering his head into his hands.

"Wanna talk about it?" Charlie asked, walking back over to her desk where she had a laptop open. She clicked a few keys and shook her head. "Darn. Still crappy WiFi...you'd think Michael and Lucifer would concentrate on the essentials at some point..."

"How is it that you never get the visions?" Chuck complained. "Aren't we technically both the same person?"

Charlie shrugged. "Technically. Sure. I never thought too much about that manifestation of our physical form...or _forms_ , plural, in this particular case, thing..." she frowned, turning back towards him. "Oh oh..."

Chuck looked back at her and smiled back tightly.

"So...physical manifestations...that's what the vision was about..." Charlie half-whispered. She shook her head after a few seconds. "Is it really that time?"

"'Fraid so," Chuck answered.

"Wow."

"Uh-huh," Chuck answered, getting up off of the coach and tightening his robe. He walked around behind it and began pulling on some jeans. "I guess I'll go get him now..."

Charlie looked back at him, a sad look on her face.

"Um...can you...tell him something for me?"

Chuck paused and looked at her, then smiled gently, nodding, continuing to get dressed. "Sure, shoot."

Charlie sighed, wiping a tear out of the corner of her eye. "Tell him...yeah, what I always tell him, I guess. That...I'm sorry. So sorry."

Chuck hesitated , then nodded again. "Will do. Anything else?"

Charlie bit her lip. "That I miss him?"

Chuck sighed and finished tucking in his shirt. "Do you really think he'll care this time?"

With a flash of white light, Chuck disappeared, leaving Charlie alone in the empty living room.

She turned back to the laptop screen and sighed, typing in a few lines.

"Man, I hope so. For everyone's sake..." she mumbled.

* * *

Michael and Lucifer had made it clear to the faithful of humanity in their 'New Paradise' that they were allowed to continue their day-to-day existence and activities as they pleased. Watch TV. Create. Read. Write. Go on vacations. Work. Pray. Eat. Love. They had insisted on it, in fact.

Unfortunately, those things had seemed to take on a darker tone in the time of their rule.

Violence and crime were beyond record highs. The vices of the world had become the norm, and the place that Chuck found himself in now was all too typical as a form of 'entertainment and recreation' in the new world.

The banner written in red paint over the caged-in ring read: "Ultimate Fighting Arena". Chuck glanced down from it at the sea of humanity cheering and watching and betting and clapping at the 'sport' in the ring and felt himself go cold.

It was a bloodsport. The worst of humanity revealed. The Colosseum reborn.

 _Oh Michael, what have you done to yourself_...

Chuck broke out of his reverie and looked into the ring. The announcer was in there, introducing a new match.

"And in this corner..." he belted out into the microphone, waving his arm dramatically at the monster in the corner, a man weighing at least 350 lbs. and wearing several razor sharp knives on his massive arms held tightly there by thick leather straps. "The Butcher!" The crowd erupted in screams of approval. The Butcher raised his arms, and Chuck saw the red stains of dried blood on the vicious blades. "And in the other corner – new to the squared circle, all the way from the Middle East..." the crowd hissed and jeered and spat. "Juuuudah!" the announcer shouted, ducking out of the ring and slamming the steel cage's door shut.

Judah stood stock still in the corner and took off his simple white robe, letting it fall to the ring apron, showing his golden brown skin and lean muscles. The bell rung. The two men regarded each other from their respective corners, the Butcher's chest heaving, Judah still as a statue, icy brown eyes not blinking. Chuck looked at the golden, embossed stenciled letters written along the side of Judah's white tights.

They read 'Rev. 5:5'.

Judah finally moved, tilting his head slightly to side, and smiling at the Butcher.

The Butcher blinked, a bit in surprise, then in a bellow of rage, charged at Judah, knives held out in front of him, his mass and momentum like a deadly, runaway freight train.

The crowd practically held it's breath in anticipation of the impact, then went silent, shocked as Judah simply _leapt_ into the air over the back of the charging behemoth, planting a hand on his head as he flew over, and landed, agile as a panther in a crouch behind him.

The Butcher slammed into the empty corner, not able to stop. His sheer momentum drove one of the blades on his arms into his own shoulder, and he let out a scream of pain. He then snarled and ripped the blade out, re-focusing on Judah, who watched him intently.

The Butcher, slower this time, advanced on him, blocking off the ring, feighting with his arms in case Judah decided to jump again. Judah was slowly, inevitably, being herded against the side of the cage.

The Butcher began swinging his massive arms, and Judah, unbelievably, ducked and swerved out of the way of each lightning quick blow. The Butcher roared in frustration as he couldn't land a thing.

Suddenly, Judah straightened up and caught the Butcher's right arm at the elbow and wrenched the gigantic limb at a horrible angle. There was sickening cracking sound and a spurt of blood sprayed from a white bone that appeared from the Butcher's arm.

With a gasp, the behemoth stepped rapidly back from Judah, fear showing in his eyes.

Judah lowered his chin and walked forward.

The Butcher took a few more swings of pure desperation, but Judah slapped them away with his bare hands with a snarl of contempt. He then threw a thrust kick into the Butcher's throat and the big man fell backwards, landing in a heap on the ground, making a horrific gurgling sound.

The crowd held it's breath as Judah, quick as a cat, leapt into the air, and brought his full weight down with his knee into the exposed neck of the larger man.

There was a much duller, but equally as loud sound of bones snapping as Judah landed. The Butcher's body jerked violently for a second and then he lay still, his head turned at an unnatural angle.

Chuck felt queasy. _Well, this is what I expected he'd be like this time around, I guess_...he thought with a sigh of acceptance.

Judah stepped back and went back to his corner, sweeping up his robe and, seemingly oblivious to the roar of the crowd and the announcer declaring him the victor, left the cage and grabbed a towel and in a swift motion, wiped the blood, all of it the Butcher's, and sweat off of him.

He suddenly stopped in the crowd on his way back to the dressing room, turning his gaze slowly up and finding himself face to face with Chuck.

Judah smiled, and flung the bloody towel over on shoulder.

"Well...hey there, Dad," he said simply, eyes like steel. "Come to see the show?"


	4. Other Principles of the Apocalypse

**Other Principles of the Apocalypse**

Atropos paused before entering the stone temple located in the middle of the ripe, festering swamp. It had been quite a while, after all, since she had last met with her fellow Fates, her sisters Clotho and Lachesis. She took a steadying breath and looked up again at the old structure, tilting her head.

It hadn't changed in centuries. She shook her head. At least she _tried_ to keep up with events on Earth's current timeline. Her sisters seemed perpetually stuck in medieval Greece.

 _I hope they still aren't wearing witch robes_ , she thought with apprehension, grimacing and adjusting her thick, dark glasses. She straightened her skirt and strode purposefully forward into the dark and murky temple interior.

Her nose was immediately assaulted by a pungent, rich, and unfortunately rancid steamy smell. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw the ever-present large black cauldron in the middle of the cracked marble floor – the source of the hideous smell. Two shadowed forms moved around it, hemp robes crackling, bare feet brushing on the floor and crunching the small weeds that had stubbornly pushed their way up through the myriad of age-worn cracks.

"Yea, yea, who comes this way?!" a old woman's voice crackled and echoed through the hall.

"Mayhaps dinner, or a wayward sinner?", came the hoarse reply.

 _Dammit_ , Atropos sighed.

"Ok, ok, _please_ cut it out you two, it's just me," she huffed, shoulders squaring. She settled her clipboard snugly into the nook of her left arm and walked closer.

The taller of the old crones regarded her with her head tilted to the side, frowning.

"Oh. It's you," she said impassively, not even blinking at Atropos.

"Lachesis," Atropos answered, nodding.

The shorter of the two witches dropped her ladle noisily into the steaming cauldron with an animated sigh and crossed her arms. "Well, this is no fun," she said, her head looking Atropos up-and-down. "Nice suit," she smirked sarcastically.

Atropos raised one eyebrow, mirroring the assessing look. "Um...ditto, Clotho...have you switched over to thick-dyed Hessian wool this year? _Tres moderne_ " she answered, equally as sarcastically.

"Have a care, _little_ sister, "Clotho hissed. "I hold the power of Creation and Life itself in my hands..."

"...and I can snap that Life short, "Atropos replied smoothly, not missing a beat. She lowered her eyes at her sister, and shifted the clipboard in her grip pointedly. "Including yours, I might add."

Clotho's eyes widened in surprise and anger. "You dare to threaten _me_...?!"

Lachesis held up her hand. "I determine the length that this Life is given sisters. And while Atropos has the power to sever it, only I can tell her when to do so," she said, her steely gaze shifting between the two, silently beseeching them for calm. "Like it or not, we are equals, and this infighting that has stubbornly existed between us throughout the entirety of our existence is pointless." She continued to look back and forth between them before nodding to herself in satisfaction. "Now, Atropos, it has been too long, what brings you here to us today?"

Atropos regarded Lachesis and smiled tightly. "Come now, sister, I know that you've felt it too. It's impossible to ignore. Even in here," she added, looking around the drab, dark temple.

Lachesis paled and cleared her throat, looking away. Clotho watched and rolled her eyes, dramatically, her arms still crossed. "What of it? The Darkness stirs and rises – what's new? They seek to escape their prison all the time."

"The Gate is weak, sisters. Only Gabriel remains. And Lucifer and Michael control the Mark."

"This is known to us, Atropos," Lachesis replied coolly. She shrugged slightly. "The balances and wars of Light and Dark are of no concern to us. We are merely to mete out Life and Death." She turned a serious gaze on Atropos. "It does not matter, nor is it in our purview to determine where that Life and Death is attained, nor to which side controls it's limitless power. Or have you, perhaps, once again forgotten your ultimate duty?"

Atropos cast her eyes downwards briefly, a furious blush reaching her cheeks. "This...this is different..."

Lachesis raised her eyebrows sternly. "Different how?"

Atropos breathed out in frustration and tapped her foot. "Lucifer and Michael...they...they..."

"Yes? We're _waiting_ ," Clotho chimed in, her eyes dancing mirthlessly.

Atropos' cheeks burned. _They know_ , she thought furiously. _Of_ course _they know_... _how couldn't they_?  
"They...manipulated me, sisters," she said finally, defeated. "They manipulated the Threads of Fate themselves. Changed the past, present and future to seize power."

Clotho looked surprised, then nodded in satisfaction, smiling. "I am...impressed...that you admit your complete and utter failure, sister, " she gloated. "I had thought..."

"They manipulated _all_ of the Threads, sisters, ALL OF THEM!" Atropos shot back angrily, her eyes burning with accusation, shifting back and forth between Lachesis and Clotho, who recoiled a bit back from her fury. Atropos nodded in satisfaction, her eyes wild. "That's right, _past and present_ as well – _your_ respective responsibilities. Maybe if you didn't spend all of your existence manifested here in this...this pathetic monument to times long past, maybe you could have stopped..."

"That's enough," Lachesis broke in firmly, but gently, waving her hand. "That's _more_ than enough," she added, looking defiantly back at Atropos. Atropos finally relented, letting her anger dwindle. "And while it is true that the Brother Archangels have perhaps taken liberties that were, to this point, never taken, what's done is done. It is not our _duty_ to undo it."

Atropos shook her head. "Sister, I do respect your opinion on this matter, I do, but..."

"This is no _opinion_ , Atropos," Clotho cut in. "This is Universal Law. There is no gray area here."

"Universal Law is a foregone conclusion if Michael and Lucifer's overreaching causes the Gate to weaken to the point of collapse. Or do you think that the Old Ones will actually care how that Law functions once they break through?" Atropos answered defiantly. She shook her head. "They will dismantle everything, sisters. It is specifically our duty to protect that Order. Do you deny that?"

Clotho's jaw clamped shut, and Lachesis looked surprised, then frowned pensively. "That's a rather large 'if', sister..." she finally replied hesitantly.

Atropos shook her head. "Not really. I've already felt one of the more powerful ones press against this reality. As have you." She scanned them for the acknowledgment of this, then continued. "But, I have also seen it with my own eyes."

Lachesis' carefully crafted composure broke at this, her eyes visibly widening in shock. "You... _saw_...?"

Atropos nodded slowly. "At the Threads themselves. Now ask yourself this; would I have even bother coming here if I _weren't_ certain?"

She was met with stone silence from her sisters. The only sound was the bubbling water of the large iron cauldron and the pop and crackle of the wood-fire.

"What...what do you propose that we do?" Lachesis finally asked quietly.

Atropos nodded, relief flooding through her.

 _And that was the easy part_...she thought sourly.

* * *

" _Cage-fighting_ , Judah, seriously?" Chuck asked, his mouth twisted in distaste. "Seriously?"

Judah shrugged in indifference as the two of them left the building and walked out into the chilly night-air, blending in with the busy foot traffic of the New York street. "Do you have any idea how many people that monster brutally killed, Father? And," he added, holding up a finger, "he enjoyed it. Immensely." Judah shook his head. "It was more than justice."

Chuck winced. "Eye for an eye? Are we there now?"

Judah didn't answer as they began to enter a less crowded area. Once they were near Central Park and among the trees, he sighed.

"I am here. So it must be. There is no other cheek left to turn."

Chuck smiled sadly, stopping. He looked up at the tall man and shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt.

"How long do you have left, Father?" Judah asked, his eyes sad.

Chuck smiled. "Seconds, I guess. You're here now."

Judah smiled back in acknowledgment, humorously. "And...did she...?"

Chuck's smile deepened. "She said that she's still very sorry."

Judah nodded pensively and was quiet for a moment before speaking again. "Was that all?"

Chuck looked down at the ground. "No...she also said that she missed you..." he added, looking up at Judah with something like hope in his eyes.

Judah's face remained impassive. He finally nodded. "We shall put that theory to the test, then," he said. He looked around the park and settled his eyes on the stars that had broken thorough the haze of the city.

"Goodbye, Father," he whispered.

When he looked back down, Chuck was gone. Judah sighed, then straightened his shoulders, eyes closing slowly.

"Where to begin...?" he muttered quietly.

His eyes snapped open almost immediately and he turned his neck to stare west and to the south.

He set his jaw and gritted his teeth.

"So. A city of 'Angels' it is then..." he growled.

There was a whisper of motion, a small flash of light, and Judah was gone.

* * *

 _Los Angeles, California_

Twilight was rapidly approaching, but the tourists were plentiful on Hollywood's 'Walk of Fame', taking pictures with the street performers or selfies and animatedly engaging in conversation, but there was an air of tension all around them. As if they were all trying to ignore some horrible, hidden secret.

But it was no true secret to any of them. They all shared in that knowledge. In that guilt.

Michael and Lucifer were their Gods now. And they had chosen to accept that and og on living their respective lives.

The lie of a tableau. The people smiled and laughed and talked about politics and movies, all desperately moving forward with their lives.

It made the New Herald, the Archangel Stephen, feel sick.

The sheer hypocrisy of it all. The people. They sold out. They were forced into their devotion.

They didn't love Michael and Lucifer. They didn't love _him_.

Nothing had changed.

It's probably why he had never bothered to change out of his hot dog vendor's uniform from the Mall where he was first chosen by Michael and Lucifer.

He smiled crookedly.

Well, one thing had changed.

He had the power to do something about it now.

He raised his finger slowly and pointed out into the crowd. A flash of brilliant, concentrated light appeared soundlessly, blinking out of existence as soon as it appeared, leaving a slight ozone smell in the air with it's passing.

Wordlessly, a man and woman who had been walking about fifty yards away hand-in-hand fell lifeless to the ground, a sizzling black hole in their heads.

The people around them regarded the crumbled bodies and began to give them a wide berth, jogging away, a few of them crying out in alarm.

None of them stopped to help.

Too much fear.

Too much _hypocrisy_.

Stephen raised his finger again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And _again_...

He walked calmly amid the now panicked and fleeing crowd, his fingers dealing out rays of death in every direction, faster and faster, unerringly, without a care, mercy or regard as to whom his targets were. Some people recognized him for what he truly was as they passed near him , and immediately scrambled further away in utter horror, their jaws agape. He felt himself smile at their raw, naked fear, their panic to survive.

 _This_ was blessed truth. _This_ was the truth of the face of humanity.

He raised his finger...

There was a crack of thunder and a blast of force. Stephen found himself jerking his head away, covering his face. With a snarl, he whipped his head back around to the street, scanning everywhere.

A figure stood in the silhouette of a black cloud of rising smoke and stepped forward into the light.

He was a middle-eastern looking man with curly black-brown hair, and steely brown eyes. He strode forward directly at Stephen, determined and unblinking.

Stephen's eyes went wide. " I am a Herald of our Lords, Heretic!" he shouted, his voice cracking a little in raw fury. "How dare you...!?"

The man did not stop moving forward. Stephen looked into his eyes...

….and felt a shock of fear.

"Stop! _I command you_ to stop!" he screamed, holding up his arm, palm out. He concentrated and let a full stream of Archangel power flow out from him, shrieking and ripping through the air like a contained blast of nuclear power. He meant to obliterate this man from existence itself.

The man didn't miss a single step.

Stephen felt his brow break out in a stream of sweat.

"I...I said..." he stuttered as the figure closed to within arm's length.

The man's arm shot out and grabbed the Herald by the throat. He pulled his face close to his and looked deep into his eyes.

Stephen looked back...and immediately wished that he hadn't.

What he saw there made him feel like all of his blood drained out of his body, leaving him freezing, shivering and numb.

With a panicked grunt, he summoned up every once of strength that he had and ripped himself away. He sprang with Angelic speed into the Heavens, opening a portal to Heaven and he fled. He could feel the man's eyes burning into his back, following his flight.

He landed in Heaven and panted hard, out of breath. His ears rang. He looked up and saw Sarah rushing over, concern on her face.

"Stephen...what happened?" she frowned. "Was it Castiel and Crowley? Did they actually attack...?"

"Michael..." Stephen croaked. "Where's Micheal?"

Sarah continued to frown down at him. "Your throat, it's burned...or something...what happened to y...?"

"Michael!" Stephen cried out, grabbing Sarah by the collar and shaking her. "I need to see him at once!"

"He's...he's where he always is..." Sarah answered in a gasp. "The Throne Room...he's in the Throne Roo..."

Stephen sprung up and began to stagger hurriedly towards Heaven's recently rebuilt central palace.

"Stephen...what happened?!" he heard Sarah call out from somewhere behind him.

"We're dead," Stephen muttered to himself, tears running down his face. "We're all dead..."


	5. Break on Through

**Break on Through...**

"Oh Mighty One Who Walks in the Darkness! Who Swims Beneath the Midnight Seas! Hear Me and Come Forth! Give Unto Us, Your Faithful and Loyal Servants, the Gifts of Eternity!"

Silence. Only the slight rustle of clothing and anticipatory breathing whispered in the still, dark air.

"Mitch...?"

"Shhhhhhh!"

The silence stretched on.

"Ummm..."

"I said quiet, bro!" Mitch hissed angrily, feeling his brow break out in sweat underneath the thick black hood. Someone in the dark room, lit only by small candles, giggled.

"What's so damned funny?!" Mitch exclaimed, sweeping the hood back, scanning around. "Mellie, was that you laughin'?"

One of the smaller dark-robed figures grabbed at her middle and doubled over with laughter. Mitch's frown deepened and his forehead furrowed in anger.

"Oh...oh...c'mon Mitch...this is so laaaaame..." Mellie gasped between breaths of laughter. A few of the other teenagers also removed their hoods, looking around sheepishly in the basement at each other. One of them walked over and turned on a lightswitch, illuminating the finished bedroom/domicile of their 'master of ceremonies', Mitch. Several Gothic posters covered the painted brick walls, and there were artsy fake skulls topped with candles adorning every table surface or shelf.

Mitch stared furiously down at the book in his hands and flipped through the pages quickly. "Shit. I must've missed something..."

"Yeah, like the fact that this crap doesn't work, for example...", Mellie mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. "And, might I add, we could be drinking beer or something instead...anything but _this_...I mean, geez Mitch, when was the last time any of us did this shit? When we were what, eleven?"

Mitch scowled at her and shook his head, looking back down at the book. "It's different now...I can feel it..."

"Different how?"

"Oh, like, I dunno, like Michael and Satan are running the damned show now different, oh, snarky one..." Mitch shot back. "And you've heard the rumors of what happens behind the Herald's Doors..."

"Rumors, dorkweed, " Mellie said shrugging. "Like, hearsay...you ever watch CSI?"

"Nah, I think Mitch is right," another of the teens spoke up. "The Coopers? Last week? They got Called. And now they're acting all strange and crap."

"Strange how, Terry?" Mellie asked, tilting her head.

"Like, Mr. Cooper, right? Remember how he was all domesticized all the time? Mowing the lawn, recycling, all that?"

"Yeah? So?" Mellie shrugged, bending down to click on a Lava Lamp positioned near a Spawn action figure.

"So, now he's like a frikkin' zombie, Mel. He don't do shit around the house, won't even pick up the mail. It's busting out at the seams. And Mrs. Cooper..."

Mitch glanced up at Terry, interested.

"She used to be working in their garden all the time – now she just shuffles around the house in her damned bathrobe eating out of Ben & Jerry's cartons."

Mellie sat down on the floor in front of the lamp cross-legged, propping her head up on her hands, looking bored. "Yeah, so, maybe she's knocked up. Maybe Mr. Cooper ain't all that thrilled with that. They are kinda old to be having a kid, you know?"

"That's the whole point," Mitch broke in. "That just confirms the rumors, Mellie. There are Old Ones manifesting. Here. Now. The time is now to get in on this action..."

Mellie blew a strand of hair out of her face. "If you could just hear yourself..."

"What?" Mitch replied, looking confused.

Mellie got up and headed for the basement door.

"That doesn't prove anything, Mitch...it's just you wishing your masturbatory fantasies are coming to life." She sighed. "Yeah, OK, Michael and Lucifer are running the show now. Big deal. You think they are big fans of the competition? You think they'd actually let Old Ones break through, and be working with 'em openly?" She shook her head. "Man, stop. I'm outta here." She turned the handle and opened the door, turning back towards the others. "Look, harsh, I know – but you know me..." she said, closing her eyes. "I'll...I'll make it up to ya', OK? Pizza, my place, next weekend, plus a Top Model marathon...deal?" She looked up hopefully, and frowned at them.

They were all staring at her, stock still, their faces ghostly white.

"Um...guys...? What...?"

She followed their eyes. They were not looking at her...

….they were looking _behind_ her...

She felt a cold chill as she slowly turned to face the open door that went up the stairs to the house. A dark shadow covered everything...

…..and something in the darkness _moved_...

Mellie felt a wet slap as something cold and rubbery wrapped around her neck, freezing her skin. Several other things grabbed and entwined her. She let out a loud shriek and looked into the darkness to see what it was...

…..and then Melissa Beatrice Hart was no more.

Everything that had been Mellie was suddenly ripped away. Her thoughts. Her memory. Her uniqueness. Her very existence. Ripped away. Torn. _Consumed_.

The assembled teens watched in fascinated horror, unable to move or look away. When Mellie was gone, the dark paused, shrinking and growing, almost like breath...

…..then it surged into the whole room, plunging all into total darkness. And all the teens knew after that was a brief moment of pure chaos and pain. And then...something _worse_ than nothing.

Non-existence. _Oblivion_.

* * *

"Did you feel that?" Lucifer said, twisting his head away from his book to look at Michael, who sat in the golden throne of Heaven, looking pensive.

Micheal turned the green, steely gaze of the former Dean Winchester to Lucifer and nodded slightly.

"Of course. How could I not?"

Lucifer closed the book and stood up from his reading chair, stretching to his full height – considerable in the body of Sam Winchester.

"Welllllll...wouldn't you say that maybe we should _do something_ about that?" he asked.

Michael sighed and leaned forward., tenting his fingers.

"What do you propose?

"Michael..."

Michael's gaze flicked up to Lucifer, annoyed. "It's not as if we haven't done everything possible to make more hybrids. But they simply aren't powerful enough. We can't bleed off enough dark power to balance..."

Lucifer flung his hands up, cutting him off. "I know, I know...if we can't draw larger amounts of dark power that we can control, then the weakened Gate will begin to fail, and bigger, badder things will break through...things that we can't control..."

"...because they aren't melded with the power of Light. They aren't hybrids," Michael finished, muttering. He slammed his fist down on the side of the throne, turning his head away. "Damned Castiel and Crowley...hiding Gabriel away from us. If we could only find him and destroy him..."

"...then we would have absolute control over the Gate, and what goes in and out," Lucifer sighed. "We've been over all of this a million times, Michael, and the question still remains – what do we do about this? Whatever just came through and chowed down on those teenagers was _major_ – probably an actual Elder God, if I'm not mistaken. If enough of those get through, we're up shit's creek – you _are_ aware of that, right?"

"Of course I'm aware of it, brother," Michael answered in a very passive-aggressive tone. "And I ask you once again – what would you have me do about it?"

"We need to turn up the pressure on the Resistance, smoke those two out. Get them, or someone close to them, to tell us where they've got our dear brother Gabriel stashed..."

Micheal looked up at him steadily. "You're proposing open attacks on Earth again? Massive Biblical level events to force them into action?"

Lucifer ran a hand through his hair. "Like I said, unless you have a better idea..."

"Brother, as distasteful as it seems, we _need_ those humans. Our Father infused them with remarkable amounts of the power of Creation. Have I not made that clear in the past?"

Lucifer sighed. "Then let me go down there, then...alone, I can..."

Michael grinned sarcastically. "Oh, Lucifer. Do you truly believe I'd fall for that?"

Lucifer cocked his head to the side, looking genuinely puzzled.

"Fall...for what?" He stopped considering. "Nice pun, BTW, if you actually meant to do it..."

Michael got up from the Throne and took a couple of steps towards Lucifer, his eyes gleaming.

"Me, allowing you to return to Earth alone. Out of my range of observation. So you can hatch whatever plan it is you have cooking in there..." he tapped his finger lightly on Lucifer's forehead.

Lucifer's expression darkened immediately, and he grabbed his brother's finger, glaring at him. They locked eyes for a long moment before Lucifer finally broke the tension with a slight smile.

"Who says I have something 'cooking' in here?" he asked steadily, his voice disarming. "Now is not the time to get paranoid, oh Brother of mine..."

Micheal grinned back at him, his expression dangerous. "Oh, I think after a millenia of battling you, Brother, that I, among all of Father's creations, would think to know you best..."

"You know what I think?" Lucifer snarled back. "I think you've been so busy sitting on that Throne, that it's beginning to break what's left of your head..."

They continued to stare at each other, the tension building back up.

"My Lords! My Lords!" came a cry from outside the Throne Room. Running feet echoed up the long hall and the sound of a breathless Herald entering the room reached their ears.

"What is it, my Herald?" Michael asked, not breaking his stare with Lucifer. He frowned. "Stephen, is it?"

"My Lords, forgive me, but I was just on Earth..."

At this, Michael did break the gaze, frowning down at the prostrate Herald. "Stephen, I warned you about this. I have no great love of the humans either, but as I was just explaining to my Brother for our long-term plans, we need to keep them alive...I can't allow these little... _excursions_ of yours to continue..."

Stephen shook his head. "It's not that...well, yeah, it _is_ that, but there's something else..."

Lucifer frowned at him. "Micheal, do you see that energy clinging to his body?"

Micheal stared, then his eyes widened. Quick as a cat, he grabbed Stephen up from the floor by his shirt, holding him three feet over the ground. Stephen gulped in surprise, feet dangling.

"What happened to you?! Tell me everything!"

"My Lord Michael...someone came...he stopped me...my powers...they did nothing to him... _nothing_...I looked into his eyes..."

Micheal pulled him closer with a snarl of rage. "And?!"  
"I saw the Earth...it was burning, my Lord...it was black, in cinders... _burning_..."

With a grunt of disgust, Michael flung Stephen to the side and paced quickly back to the Throne, collapsing into it with his eyes squeezed shut.

"No. Nononononononononononononono...He wouldn't have done that...he couldn't..." Michael said, his voice a low groan.

Lucifer sat down heavily in his chair, his jaw hanging partially open, staring down at the reading table.

"I never actually thought...I mean...it was always a _possibility_ , I guess..."

Micheal suddenly sprang up from his chair, walking towards Lucifer with a determined stride, grabbing his brother's shoulder. Lucifer looked up at him.

Michael's eyes were burning with fury.

And pure madness.

"You were right. We need to go to Earth. We need to get the entire situation back under control. We're not letting Him get away with this."

Lucifer frowned. "'Get away with'...?" he said slowly, like he was talking to a child. "Michael, what are you talking about? It's _done_...God has brought forth the frikking Lion of Judah..."

Michael's eyes danced. "Then we will destroy Him. Before He destroys everything else."

Lucifer squinted up in disbelief. "Destroy...Michael, can you even _hear_ yourself? How are we supposed to destroy...?"

Michael shook his head. "We destroy Him, Lucifer. If Father wants war with us...then it's war He shall receive." With that Michael disappeared with a rush of air and the flutter of gigantic, unseen wings.

Lucifer shook his head and was silent for a long while. Pensive. Finally, he let out a deep breath and stood up slowly, shaking his head.

"It's not the Father that we have to worry about now, is it?" he muttered to himself, then left to join his brother on Earth.

* * *

"That's weird," one of the Hunters frowned at the conference table. He looked back up at the patrol that had just came back into Resistance Headquarters and shook his head. "That hasn't worked in over a decade."

"Yeah, well, it's workin' now, " the patrol leader answered, rubbing the top of his head. "We just accidentally stumbled on that Hellsquad out there – scared the piss out of us. Then ol' Zeke here just blurted it out, surprised was all. Next thing we know – 'poof', it frikkin' works again."

"What works again?" Crowley grunted, entering the room, his hands tucked into his pockets. Castiel walked in behind him, nodded at Crowley hesitantly, then moved over to the far side of the room. Crowley considered the Angel for a moment, then nodded to himself before turning back to the patrol leader.

"Hell, show him, Fred," the Hunter at the head of the table said to the patrol leader, his mouth twisting up in a half smile.

Fred looked uncertain, looking at Crowley then back at the Hunter nervously. "Oh, I dunno, Cletus, do you think it's a good idea to...?"

Cletus shrugged, then looked directly at Crowley.

"Christo."

Crowley's eyes flashed a fiery red, and he immediately stumbled back from the table, hissing in pain. A faint puff of dark smoke rose from his jacket as he braced himself against the room's entrance.

"What the hell...?!" he shouted angrily, breathing heavily. His eyes widened. "That bloody hurts...!" He stopped and waved the smoke away lazily, puzzlement on his face. "But...that word hasn't worked in over a decade...what...?" He looked up at Castiel, who had gone pale. "Castiel...what is it...?"

Castiel stumbled back and fell against the wall, scattering a few maps that were pinned there. He looked like he was in total shock.

"Castiel...are you OK?" Crowley asked, moving towards him. "That...word...it only works on Demons, right?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Geez, far as I can tell, yeah,", Cletus answered, standing up, concern on his face.

"Castiel?" Crowley said, reaching him and shaking his shoulders. "Castiel, what's wrong? Can you hear me?"

Castiel focused on Crowley, his mouth working. "Oh...oh no..." he whispered.

Crowley frowned. "Castiel, what is it? Can you tell me what's the matter?"

Castiel blinked his eyes shut, concentrating. "It's...it's God's emergency plan..."

"What is? What's God's emergency plan? Chri..." Crowley stopped himself, wincing. "That word? What has that got to do with an emergency plan?"

Castiel kept his eyes shut tightly. "The return. That word stopped working when Chuck was receiving messages from God. That meant that God was actively working...existing in the Universe..."

"Go on..." Crowley urged. Castiel opened his eyes, panicked.

"Well, before that, the...word worked on Demons because the Judaeo-Christian belief that was still held by the majority of the population concentrated around the Trinity; the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. And the name of the Son was painful to Demons..."

Crowley squinted. "Are you saying that it only _stopped_ working when God re-appeared because God was made manifest somehow?"

Castiel nodded. "Exactly. The Trinity is actually one Being, not three. Three different manifestations – but truly only one divine Being – as long as it was God, the Father, there was no Son, so that meant that the word no longer worked..."

"So what does that mean now that the name works again?" Crowley asked. "Not to mention that it stings a lot more than it ever did in the past..."

"Yeah, it knocked that Demon patrol clear to the ground..." Fred added.

Castiel held Crowley's gaze. "It means that the manifestation of God as the Father is gone. It means that the only manifestation of the Trinity left is the Son..."

Crowley frowned. "Castiel..." he let go of his shoulders and paced away, rubbing his forehead. "Castiel, are you telling me that this is the damned _Second Coming_?" he asked finally in disbelief.

"Yes," Castiel replied evenly. "Well, everything except the 'damned' part."

Crowley looked back at him. "Ok, so tell me the bad news...why is this not a _good_ thing? Shouldn't the Messiah be able to send Michael and Lucifer packing? Set the world to rights again?"

Castiel shook his head slowly, then lowered his gaze to the floor. "Read Revelations again, Crowley. Like I just said, emergency measure. The ultimate reset button. The return of the Son is _not_ a good thing...HE went out as the Lamb, but He returns as the Lion. He will bring the Apocalypse, the _true_ Apocalypse, break the Seven Seals and free the Darkness from it's prison."

Crowley paled. "And six of those so-called Seals..."

"...are already dead. Leaving Gabriel." Castiel finished. He shook his head slowly. "Those thousand years of 'peace' that the Bible talks about? That's the time it will take for the Universe to burn out...for it to be destroyed -swallowed by the Darkness..." He slid slowly down to the floor, leaning his back against the wall. "Why would Father do this?"

Crowley snorted. "You looked around lately? Old goat probably figured he was doing us a favor."

Castiel let his eyes close slowly and shook his head from side to side. "He lost faith in us, Crowley. Simple as that."

Crowley watched him for awhile and frowned. "Ok, ok, none of that now." he said finally, looking around at everyone. He walked over to Castiel and pulled him up to face him. "I've just convinced you to come out of one deep funk, let's not go miring ourselves in another one, what do you say?"

Castiel blinked at him. "What do we do?"

Crowley smiled tightly. "I was hoping that you might be able to tell me that, actually."

"Oh lads," came a sing-song voice from the entrance to the room. They all turned their heads

to regard the slim red-head lounging in the entrance, an amused smile twisted on her face.

"You two, always got to be the ones that have all the answers. Well, this time, maybe you should ask an expert."

Crowley grimaced. "An expert? On _what_ , mother? The Apocalypse?"

Rowena's expression feigned aplomb. She held her fingers to her heart. "But of course, Fergus. Whatever else?"

A large figure appeared behind her and walked by as she stood aside, smiling. He wore a long cloak trimmed with fur and a wide brimmed hat. He was old, his skin scarred and weathered. He looked around the room , regarding them with his one eye, his other covered in a intricate leather patch. He grunted and sat down at the table, sweeping off his hat and letting his long gray and silver hair spill out.

"Mother...is _that_...did you and your Coven actually _summon_...?"

The old man at the table grinned at Crowley and Castiel and nodded. "Always knew that you Christians would take things too far one day...I see things, you know," he said leaning forward. His expression turned serious. "But Ragnarok...that's my domain. And I'll be damned if I let you lot have all of the fun."

"Have a care, Norseman," came a silky voice from the door. A small Indian woman strode in, her face calm, but her eyes a cacophony of wisdom and emotion. "Some might think you were trying to steal all of the glory for yourself."

The old man grunted and sniffed heavily in dismissal. "We'll see who holds all the cards here, Kali, when the final note is struck."

"This is no card game, " a man's voice chimed in. A small Asian man with a long, slender black mustache entered, his eyes blazing like lightning. "It is Chess, if it were anything." He smiled warmly and sat, inclining his head slightly.

"Mother..." Crowley muttered." What have you done?"

"Oh Fergus," Rowena pouted, "it's really quite simple. You have a fight comin'. Against a couple of Gods no less, Michael and Lucifer." She smiled. "All I wanted to do was even the odds." Her smile widened. "Or should I say, _Gods_..."

Behind her, several more forms appeared. Crowley looked behind her into the hanger, and saw that it was full of the new arrivals.

"So..." Rowena cooed. "Shall we get started?"


	6. That Ol' Timey Religion

**That Ol' Timey Religion**

Castiel rubbed his chin, squinting skeptically at the assembled group seated at the table.

Rowena and her Coven had identified and organized the heads of the respective pagan Pantheons and suggested a strategy meeting. Surprisingly, it was only a minuscule amount of posturing and declaration before the most powerful of the Gods were sorted out from the rest. They now eyed each other across the table warily, and with open mistrust. Castiel sighed and shook his head, leaning towards Crowley.

"I'm not sure what this is going to accomplish," he said quietly to him under his breath.

Crowley raised his eyebrows and whispered back. "Meaning?"

"Meaning, Gabriel informed me that Lucifer once ran through several of the 'Gods' back at a hotel once without breaking a sweat. I don't care how many of these beings Rowena has assembled here, I seriously doubt they'd last more than a token amount of time against Lucifer _and_ Micheal on a battlefield." His mouth turned down in a semblance of disgust. "These...pagan pretenders were rousted by the forces of Heaven centuries ago. They went without a whisper into the pages of history, occasionally popping up here and there, certainly, but Sam and Dean, a couple of hunters, _mortal_ hunters," Castiel emphasized, "were able to put them away..."

"Oh, the die isn't fully cast yet, blue-eyes," Rowena cooed from behind them as she glided into the room, closing the door behind her. She winked at Castiel. "Our last guests of honor should be arriving at any time now."

"And who would they be, mother?" Crowley grumbled sarcastically. "Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny? I'm positively certain that they'd be great in a scrap."

Several of the Gods at the table raised their eyebrows in question, taking offense.

"To be sure, Mr. Crowley," the Asian man in the elaborate robes and long, tapered mustache said, turning his green-hued eyes to him. "To address your friend's previous concerns – Lucifer did, in fact, dispatch several of our fellows in short order back at the Elysium Hotel." He waited as he saw Crowley's eyebrows rise in surprise.

"You overheard our conversation? What are you, the God of auricular implants?"

The Asian man waved a hand in the air dismissively. "I hear all. It does not matter. What I would like to assure you of, is that this is quite a different collection of beings than Mercury..."

"Hermes..." a silver-templed man in a business suit interrupted. His eyes glittered blue, and it seemed as if shifting flashes of lightning moved within them. The Asian man regarded him without any noticeable reaction. The man in the suit met his eyes in turn. "His name was Hermes...that Roman naming convention for us is absolute nonsense."

The Asian man inclined his head slightly. "My apologies," he replied smoothly. "As I was saying, Lucifer was able to dispatch Ganesha, Baldur, Zao Shen and Hermes – hardly an impressive collection. Minor Demi-Gods, all. He was, however, able to inflict a good deal of damage onto you, All-Father," the man said, turning his eyes to the man with the ornate patch over his right eye. "I must admit, I am surprised at that."

The large man bristled. "He sucker-punched me is all..."

Kali snorted. Odin whipped his head at her. "He left you flat on your pert little ass as well, Kali," he growled. "Another second or two..."

"We would have never known..." Kali answered dismissively. "Loki...oh no...sorry... _Gabriel_ interfered before the fight truly began. What's your excuse? The One-Eye thing screw up your depth-perception?"

"He would have stomped on your head as well, just like he did mine!" Odin thundered back, slapping the table. "I was lucky to survive! Don't you pretend that you could have...!"  
The Asian man stood up and clapped his hands together once, the sound like a thousand symbols crashing together at once. Everyone in the room winced, quieted down, and turned their full attention back to him.

"This bickering and foolish pride accomplishes nothing, and is precisely an example of how we found ourselves in this situation in the first place, " the man said calmly. "We have an enormous and difficult task in front of us, and only the most focused and serious minds are needed to carry it out."

"Excuse me, but who are you to speak to us like this?" the silver-haired man said angrily, standing up. "I am Zeus, the King of the Gods. If anyone should be speaking here..."

"I am quite sorry for not introducing myself," the Asian man cut him off. "I am known as Shang-Ti, the Jade Emperor."

There was a collective gasp from several of the Gods at the table. Crowley noticed that even Castiel flinched back.

"Heavy hitter?" he whispered to Castiel.

Castiel swallowed heavily before nodding silently. "I...I should say so...even Heaven considers him equal in power to..."

"...equal in power to God Himself..." Shang-Ti finished, looking over at Castiel and Crowley. " Your Jesuit priest Matteo Ricci based the concept of the one God upon me, as a matter of fact, and the Christians in China used to refer to God by my name." He waved his hand dismissively. "It is unimportant. You should also know, I am a non-combatant. My duties are as the guardian of balance and morality. Your God is the Creator. I am the one who Governs. I was never interested in what you Christians planned to do with the world, so long as it remained in balance – the forces of Yin and Yang, positive and negative furies – energy, if you will. Now, it appears, that two of your brothers," Shang-Ti said, looking directly at Castiel, "are looking to upset that balance by merging the two furies." He shook his head. "It is impossible. Life must exist on the edge of the storm, where the two furies collide. They bring only death with this. Or worse."

"Worse, what worse?" Crowley asked dryly.

"The type of balance they seek is impossible, as I have stated. They will unbalance the scales, and the Demons will pour forth into this world. I believe that it has actually already started."

"Demons?" Crowley asked, frowning. "I...don't understand. There are plenty of Demons on Earth, always have been. Lucifer created them ages ago. Nothing was ever thrown out of 'balance'."

Shang-Ti smiled. "Excuse me, but yes. Lucifer tapped into the power of negative energy and created Demons, to be sure; infused with a kind of artificial semblance of life. But they are children's toys compared to the Demons of which I speak – beings of uncorrupted, pure Darkness."

"The Old Ones," Castiel said lowly.

Shang-Ti's smile broadened. "Exactly. The deepest powers of the Darkness. The ones equal to Heaven. The other side of the scale. They seek to tip all of Creation in Chaos and destruction, as is their nature. You brothers have weakened the barrier that separates their realm from ours, and they are breaking through even now."

"But Gabriel is still alive. The Gate is still sealed..." Castiel protested.

Shang-Ti raised a finger. "Sealed, but severely weakened. And now, your friend Gabriel's life is in grave danger, not only from Michael and Lucifer, but from your God Himself." He paused and looked around the room. "God has been re-born as the Messiah. The Lion of Judah. Christ's second coming. He will not stop until the Seventh Seal is destroyed, and the true Apocalypse is brought upon us. But to accomplish this, he will also need to control the Key to the Gate."

"Aer you talking about the Mark of Cain?" Crowley replied. "Are you saying that if the Messiah has the Mark...?"

"...then He can throw the Gate open and destroy the entirety of Creation, then reforge the Gate with Seven new Seals."

"But...why?" Castiel asked. All the heads turned towards him. "Why would God do this?"

"Isn't that obvious?" Shang-Ti asked, his eyebrow arching. "To prevent Michael and Lucifer from remaking Creation in their own, static, dead image, He will destroy everything they have wrought. He will rob them of their world. By utterly destroying it."

Crowley sucked in a breath. "That...that doesn't sound very loving and nurturing..."

"Read the Christian Bible again sometime," Shang-Ti answered coolly.

"And then what?" Castiel asked hesitantly. "Then everything just goes back to the beginning, right?"

Shang-Ti shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe He will decide to let it stay broken this time." His playful smile faded slowly and his eyes became stern. He shook his head. "That is why I have decided to come. I do not know what the Creator is going to do, and the Furies of the Universe are out of balance. They must be restored."

Silence met his words.

"How..." Castiel asked finally. "How do we do that?"

Shang-Ti nodded, his smile returning. "As all of these things are accomplished. We will aid you, of course, the most powerful Gods in all of Creation." He looked around the room. "Zeus, Odin, Kali, Amun-Ra, Hades, Set, Shiva, Anubis, Rama, Horus, Quatzelcoatl and my close cousins, Amenominakanushi, Takamimsubi, and Karmimusbui." He looked back to Castiel and Crowley. "We will engage the Darkness as it breaks through, and battle the Old Ones, as they are foes beyond your ability to handle. But to win these engagements, we will need you to help us. It is, after all, your world, so it is, as it always has been, for the heroes to actually save the world itself."

Castiel and Crowley glanced and each other, then back to Shang-Ti.

"Mind explaining to us how we're supposed to do that?" Crowley grunted. "And for the bloody record, I'm no damned hero...just so we're clear. I expect to be very well compensated at the end of all this."

Shang-Ti barked out a laugh as clear as bell and wiped a tear away. "No, no, to be certain, you are not a hero from the old tales...my apologies, Mr. Crowley," he said, taking a breath. "This will be accomplished in the most traditional way possible, of course," he said cryptically, looking around the room.

"A...a _quest_?" Zeus proffered after several seconds, sounding uncertain.

Shang-Ti nodded. "Indeed."

Odin slammed the flat of his palm down emphatically on the table, rattling several of the glasses that were set up on top of it. "Ha! Now we're talking! A good old-fashioned heroes quest!"  
Crowley grimaced. "I just told you, you bloody herring-smelling Norseman, I am _no bloody hero_..."

Odin snarled and stood up. "Is this a challenge?!"

Crowley smiled, his eyes flashing red. "Eager to get stomped again, are we?"

"Enough!" Shang-Ti shouted. Everyone jumped a bit. Odin continued to glare at Crowley, but finally grumbled something incoherent and sat back down. Shang-Ti let out an impatient breath.

"This also illustrates an elegant point," he said. "As was previously mentioned, here on the plane of reality, the Christian God is in His place of power, and as such we Gods are not. This lends them a distinct power advantage. With the exception of one such as I, who is also bound in part to this mortal plane, we will hardly be able to battle the Old Ones at our current level of power."

"Solutions?" Castiel asked.

"Coming soooon..." Rowena chirped. Crowley looked at her quizzically.

Shang-Ti nodded again in satisfaction. "As you have promised us, witch. Now, in the meantime, on with the details of your quest."

"Oh goody gumdrops...can't wait..." Crowley grumbled.

"The Key to the Gate is your goal. He who controls the Key, controls the Gate. This is why Michael and Lucifer have hidden it away."

Crowley and Castiel turned bone-white simultaneously, their expressions dropping. "Wait...are you saying...that...?!"

Shang-Ti nodded. "Yes. Michael and Lucifer have the Mark of Cain. As soon as they find and kill Gabriel, they will have full control of the Gate, and how much energy they can take from it. They will successfully be able to halt the full advance of the Old Ones and create their Universe of grayness." Shang-Ti shook his head slowly. "This cannot be allowed to come to pass. Their Universe will extinguish the furies of Light and Dark, for all time, stilling the hand of Death and Creation. It will be lost for all time. All will be gentled, and silence will reign." He looked up at them seriously. "Several powerful forces are working against you. The Messiah seeks to destroy the Seventh Seal – Gabriel – and open the Gate fully. There are other agents loose on this world that also wish this to come to pass. They will be seeking to destroy you. Michael and Lucifer themselves have secured the Mark – hidden it away from all forms of detection. They will seek to destroy any who seek it. They also are interested in destroying Gabriel – but only so they can control the flow of Power to the Gate and by doing so control Creation. Then, finally, there are the Old Ones themselves..."

"Which you said that you will be battling," Castiel cut in.

Shang-Ti nodded. "We shall. But their agents are also on this world, and we simply cannot account for them all. They will seek to keep the Gate where it is – weakened. So that their Masters can eventually break through." He raised a finger. "But, we must also consider that they too wish to control the Mark, allowing them then to also kill Gabriel, unleashing their full power onto the Universe."

"Won't that also simultaneously accomplish the Messiah's goal?" Crowley asked, scratching his chin.

"Yes it will, after a fashion. But if they control the Mark, and the Messiah does not, then there will be absolutely no possibility that the Universe will be re-made. It will be ruled by the Old Ones. Forever."

Castiel leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, breathing deeply. "It's...it's so..."

"Enormous?" Shang-Ti prompted.

Castiel shook his head and looked at the Chinese deity. "I've fought for Heaven's armies for untold millenia, with the literal fate of the Universe on my shoulders more than once, but this time you're asking me to fight _against_ those forces of Heaven. And Hell. And the Darkness. And the Will of God Himself." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Isn't this asking a bit much?"

Shang-Ti tilted his head. "Isn't every quest, at it's very beginning, seemingly too much to accomplish? Let me give you this advice, Angel. This is but the first step on the journey, which is nothing more than a larger collection of steps, some easy, some hard. The important thing to remember is this; always keep moving along the path. If you stop, the quest is truly over."

"That's assuming that our feet and the rest of our anatomy hasn't been blown to smithereens from unstoppable cosmic forces, " Crowley muttered. Shang- Ti looked at him and smiled.

"What is a quest without peril?" he said. He glanced at the door. "Ah. They have arrived."

As if on cue, the door opened and three women strode in, glancing around. Zeus immediately sucked in a breath and gritted his teeth in anger. "You... _traitors_...!" he hissed dangerously, eyes glowing.

Odin stood up as well. "They betrayed me as well, greek," he said sullenly. "Joined the Christian God without a word of warning..."

The oldest of the three women turned to them and smiled crookedly. "We serve the Universe and Creation, not any one Pantheon or God."

"Yeah, so don't get all worked up, like the walking billboards for testosterone that you are..." said the younger of the three, shifting a clipboard in her hands.

"What are _they_ doing here...?" Castiel asked, turning to Rowena.

"Oh, I told you before, lad, They're the power boost I promised," Rowena answered smiling.

Shang-Ti rose and bowed deeply to the three women. "Birth, Destiny and Death. The pillars of all Creation. We welcome you."

The women smiled at him, the middle-aged one nodding appreciatively. "Well, at least one of you has manners..."

"Atropos...?" Castiel asked the woman with the clipboard. "Did...did Father send you?"

Atropos smiled tightly and shook her head. Castiel...it's good to see you...no. Father...Father isn't sending anyone right now. He is focused only on stopping Michael and Lucifer. We're acting of our own accord."

"You can do that?" Crowley asked, incredulous. The three Fates turned to him, scowling. He threw his hands up defensively. "Just asking."

The older Fate, Lachesis, frowned and glanced briefly at Atropos. "Considering the current situation, yes. We can act. Accordingly to the rules of preserving Creation, that is."

"What does that mean?" Castiel asked, turning his head slightly to the side in question.

"It means, that since we are the keepers of all timelines and worlds, all of fate and destiny, of all probability and possibility, we can help you access some of the things in Creation that you might need."

"Such as?"

"As I said before," Shang-Ti broke in. "We are at a serious power disadvantage fighting this fight on this plane of existence, far away from our centers of power. With the help of the Three Pillars of Life, or the Fates, as you call them, we can bring those power centers here. To Earth."

Castiel's eyes widened. "You're talking about...?"

Shang-Ti smiled and nodded, eyes gleaming. "The Kingdom of Clouds. Mount Olympus. Valhalla. The River Styx. The Fates will manifest all of our respective realms here. On Earth. And by doing so...

"...our centers of power will be here. Our _full_ power." Zeus growled, shoulders straightening. "I like this plan."

"I'd like to see Lucifer try to hit me from behind in my own Hall," Odin said, teeth clenched.

"You might very well get that chance," Shang-Ti replied. "The time for War is now. The Rulers of Heaven and Hell have gone too far, and the world trembles as a result. I will help see justice done. And as for our reluctant heroes...:" he said, turning his gaze towards Castiel and Crowley.

"It seems to me that we have a first step to make," Castiel said after a moment of silence. Shang-Ti nodded in approval.

"And that is?"

Castiel looked at Crowley. Crowley rolled his eyes. "Fine. Not a huge fan of advertising our whereabouts, but it seems to me that everyone and his brother is out to kill Gabriel. Makes sense to me that we should take great cares to warn him about that, and maybe get him someplace safer." he frowned pensively, considering. "One of your realms, maybe?"

Shang-Ti smiled. "An excellent first step. I suggest that you get started then."


	7. The Great Easter Egg Hunt

**The Great Easter Egg Hunt**

"Are you sure we're even _allowed_ to do this, Pastor Joseph?" the toe-haired girl looked up questioningly and with big, round eyes full of hope at the tall, red-haired priest. The pastor smiled, kneeling down in the soft grass. The kids ran around all over the well-trimmed chapel lawn, hoping over benches, skidding to a stop in the sandbox, all under the watchful eyes of their parents, dressed in their Sunday Best, smiling at their children's antics and talking amiably with one another. A light, early spring breeze complemented a warm, sunny Easter Sunday. Some of the Church helpers were setting up a snack table, covered with a white and red-checkered cloth with biscuits, cakes and the inevitable three different flavors of kool-aid.

"Of course, Millie," Pastor Joseph said in a warm, calming voice, his eyes twinkling. "Michael and his...er...his brother have encouraged us to keep along with our traditions, not abandon them. Not ever."

Millie frowned a little, looking down. "My Daddy said that God is gone...like my Grandma...is that true?"

Pastor Joseph smiled at her, but felt a lump in his throat. He had been asked this question a hundred times in the past months. Hadn't they heard the Archangel's words? It was abundantly clear, wasn't it?

He sighed inwardly and looked down at the confused, but hopeful eyes of the little girl's and found himself genuinely smiling.

They were his flock after all. And they were uncertain and frightened.

His eyes flicked up to the ever-present robed figure standing aside in the corner of the courtyard, his arms folded, the warm air seemingly not reaching him. The symbol of the serpent and the sword wreathed in flames was embroidered in gold on his chest over his heart.

Uncertain. Frightened. His flock had every reason to be.

They all did.

His smile broadened and he shook his head gently at Millie.

"No, no, angel, that's not entirely true," he said. "It's more like...well, it's more like Mr. Miller over there," he said, nodding in the direction of an elderly gentleman dressed in egregiously plaid slacks and chatting happily while wolfing down his forth biscuit with gravy. "You know how he used to run the corner bakery, right?"

Millie nodded.

"Well, now who runs it?"

"Um...it's still _a_ Mr. Miller, just that it isn't the _same_ Mr. Miller," she answered, her face scrunching up in concentration. "It's his son, right Pastor Joseph?"

The Pastor barked out a short laugh and nodded. "Right, Millie, it's not a quiz, though." Millie beamed and clasped her hands in front of her stomach. "You see, God and his sons...that's sort of like Mr. Miller and his son. God is in retirement, so to say, and his sons are running the business now. Do you understand?" Millie looked at the ground and nodded.

"Good," the Pastor said, his tone turning a bit more serious. "It's important to remember that Heaven is in...good, safe hands... also, what I said before. We are not giving up any of our old traditions." He stood up and pointed at the milling groups of children, now being organized into small groups. "And that, young lady, most definitely includes the world-famous Boise First Methodist Easter Egg Hunt. So, off you go!"

Millie let out a squeal of delight and scampered off towards her mother, who smiled and herded her into a group. Pastor Joseph watched as they got the kids to their starting position, and then let them loose into the surrounding fenced-in acre and a quarter forest, woken baskets in hand, searching frantically for the hidden eggs.

He felt himself smile, but it inevitably began to fade as he felt the chill again...the chill coming from that... _thing_ in the robe...the Priest of the Heralds. He glanced over again, only to realize with horror that it had turned towards him...

The Priest inclined his head slightly and Pastor Joseph flinched back involuntarily. Was that...was that a nod of _respect_? Acknowledgment? He frowned, but did manage to nod back, more deeply. The hooded figure turned away, leaving Pastor Joseph wondering.

 _My flock_... _God help me_ , a _m I doing the right thing_?

* * *

Millie saw the flash of blue paint deep in the grass, and sprang forward as fast as her eight-year-old legs could carry her. She skidded to a halt on her knees and reached out her hand...

"Hey! Stop! That one's mine!" cried a boy's voice somewhere behind her. Her hand froze and she looked back.

A larger boy was running towards her, his face twisted in anger. She felt an unwelcome flash of fear as she recognized that it was Ezrah Jenkins that was barreling down directly at her. Ezrah wasn't very good at sharing. In fact, he was well known to knock other kids over if he wanted something bad enough. He had even hit a friend of hers the other week, sending him to the nurse...

Ezrah stopped, standing over her, his eyes flicking to the egg, his eyebrows close together. Millie flinched back and fiddled with a pink ribbon in her hair.

"Well? You gonna give me my egg, or not?"

Millie felt a flash of frustration. She had been looking _so_ hard, and she normally only found two or three eggs every year...and that wasn't a _lot_ of prizes, but they were _hers_...it wasn't _fair_!

"Nu-uh, Ezrah," she said, standing up. "I saw it first...and...and if you don't let me have it, I'm tellin' Pastor Joseph on you!" she said, her fists balled up at her sides.

Ezrah's lip curled. "Nu-uh!"

"Uh-huh!" Mille shot back.

Something like a growl came from Ezrah's throat. "Let you have it, huh?" he snarled. Millie shrunk back.

Ezrah's hand shot out and Millie felt herself shoved off balance as it hit her in the chest. She landed on her back in a heap, dirt spilling all over her nice, pretty dress. She watched helplessly as Ezrah bent over and put the egg... _her_ egg... into his basket, his narrow eyes watching her, his lip curled up in a feral smile.

He stood back up and jabbed at her emphatically in her direction with his finger. "And don't you _dare_ go tattlin' on me, _Silly Millie_ , or a lot worse is gonna happen to ya...a _lot_ worse." He nodded and turned his back to her, stalking away, leaving Millie sitting on the ground in silence.

She sniffed and started to cry.

A hand came down gently on her shoulder and Millie jolted and screeched. She spun her head wildly and found herself looking up into a pretty lady's face. Where had she come from? Millie hadn't heard a _thing_...she was smiling down at Millie's confusion, a warm, welcoming smile and she smelled like fresh flowers. Millie felt herself relax and sniffed harder, wiping her nose.

"Are you just going to let him get away with that?" the lady asked, her voice as soft and gentle as a fresh spring rain.

"Wh...what?" Millie answered, confused. "You mean...you mean...Ezrah?"

The lady nodded, standing up. Millie frowned at her.

"Why are you dressed like that?" She looked like something out one of those Hobbit movies. She had a bow and arrow strung around her chest with a leather strap, and her clothes were a mix of wood-colored leathers, blending in perfectly with the surrounding forest. Her hair was light brown, like a deer's skin, and her eyes...Millie found herself gasping a bit. They swam like mossy-green emeralds, reminding her of forest ponds...

The lady smiled at her again. "I'm always dressed like this. This..." she said, sweeping a hand all around her. "is my domain. Or...at least it used to be..."she said, frowing in thought. "And yes, I meant 'Ezrah', " she added emphatically, her mouth twisting a little at the mention of the boy's name. "Now answer me, young lady, are you going to just allow him to this to you?"

Millie shrugged. "What am I s'pposed to do?" she said petulantly. "He's twice my size."

The lady's eyes twinkled. "The thing is with any Hunt, it doesn't matter if the prey is bigger or physically more dangerous than you, so long as you are cleverer than it is."

Millie tilted her head. "I'm smarter than Ezrah?"

The lady nodded.

"Then...then why don't I know what to do?"

The lady offered Millie a hand up. "Because you are but a young Hunter, Millie Turner. You need to learn the basics, first." She frowned. "Most of the people down here do..." she added to herself.

Millie frowned. "How do you know my name?"

The lady looked back at her, her face still. "Because you will soon know mine. In fact, I sincerely hope that it will become among the first of your thoughts and prayers every day..." she said, her face beaming. "You are but the first. Now – what say you that we take the first step in getting your prize back?"

"Um...OK..."Millie answered hesitantly. "How?"

The lady stood up and turned her nose into the air, seemingly sniffing for something. Her eyes shone wildly as she turned back to Millie.

"We follow it. Unseen. Learn it's ways. Then, when we have learned what we need to learn, we can capture it." Her head tilted to the side and she held out her hand. "Are you ready?"

Millie frowned questioningly, looking deep into the pretty lady's eyes. She felt an excitement run through her. An energy. A... _feeling_ that all she wanted in the world was to get her egg back from Ezrah Jenkins. She reached out her hand and smiled.

"OK, but I gotta be back in an hour...that's when they count up all the eggs and hand out the prizes. Promise?"

The lady smiled back. "Promise," she said quietly, holding a finger to her lips. And then they took off together into the woods.

* * *

Ezrah was easy to follow, and it helped that it seemed to Millie that they made no sound at all, the forest lady and her, blending into every shadow and bush, stepping lightly over every dry twig or fallen leaf. She watched him repeat the process of following around other kids in the woods, waiting until they had spotted an egg, then running up and stealing it from them. Over and over again he did it, his basket getting very full. She felt a hatred of the bully building up in her. The lady looked down at her and frowned. She leaned towards Millie to whisper in her ear.

"Always respect your prey, Millie Turner. You can never hunt for revenge. If you do, it will spoil your aim, and the Hunter will become the Prey."

Millie nodded, even though she didn't fully understand. "What do we do now?"

"What have you seen?"

Millie pursed her lips together. "He follows other kids around and steals their eggs as soon as they find one."

The lady nodded back. "So, we need to set a trap, based on what we know of this behavior, do you understand?"

Millie shook her head. "What kind of trap?"

The lady smiled. "Oh, nothing devious. This is a child's hunt after all, and your first. We only need to separate him from his basket, and make sure he won't be able to run after you when you take it from him. Tell me, did you seen him put his basket down?"

Millie smiled and nodded. "When he had to cross the creek. He put it on a stone."

"Perfect. Now, Millie, how do we get him to go back to that creek?"

Millie thought very hard. "I make it look like I found an egg? Make him follow me?"

The lady beamed. "And then, the hardest part – how do we slow him down at the creek?"

Millie frowned, then a thought hit her. She smiled widely.

Ezrah watched Silly Millie balance herself on a stone in the middle of the creek and hop over to the the next one. She looked up at the opposite bank and he followed her gaze.

A flash of pink color in the branches of a big tree. Ezrah smiled. His next egg. He was going to get so many prizes this year. A record. The best egg hunter of the all. The very best.

He put the basket down on a big rock and hopped onto the stones, following Millie's path. She looked back and saw him, her eyes going big and round with fear.

"Oh no you don't Ezrah! You already stole an egg from me today!" she shrieked.

Ezrah smiled wickedly, springing onto the next rock. "Yeah, and you were too stupid to give up and go back," he taunted. She had frozen just short of the last jump onto the bank, eying the prize and glancing back at him.

"You stop right there, Millie, or I'll push you into the creek this time!" he shouted. She paled and stopped looking at the egg. He grinned. He leapt onto a rock next to her, glaring. "You stay right there until I'm gone, you hear? Or ker-splash!" He watched as she looked down and nodded numbly.

"Good." He turned and sprang onto the opposite bank on to a pile of fresh leaves.

They gave way under his feet, and he sunk in up to his knees in mud.

He looked around wildly, not understanding. The leaves were spread out in a thin layer over a loose, muddy creek bank. He yelped and tried to pry his right leg out. It moved, but just barely. He swung his head back around to Millie.

"Don't just stand there, you idiot, help me!" he shouted at the girl, who was still standing on the rock with her head down.

Millie raised her eyes to him...

….and was smiling from ear-to-ear. Ezrah felt himself go cold with shock.

"Sorry Ezrah, but no," she said, hopping from her stone back towards the opposite bank. "You messed with the wroooong girl," she trilled as she got to the other side and started skipping towards...

Ezrah's jaw dropped, dumb-founded.

His basket. His Easter basket...

"Hey... _hey_!" He felt himself shrieking, now desperately yanking at his legs, the mud making wet, slurping sounds around him. "Those are _mine_! Leave them alone or I'll..."

She grasped the handle of the full basket and turned back to him, frowning. "Or you'll _what_ , Ezrah?" She appraised him and nodded. "Figure it'll take a little while for you to get out of there, and by that time, we'll be counting eggs already. You gonna say that I took them? When every other one of my friends are gonna say that you stole them from them?" Her eyes narrowed. "If I were you, I'd think really, _really_ hard about this, and ask yourself if you really want to keep messing with me afterwards." She stared at him, and he felt his face flushing. Something...something was _different_ about the girl. He actually felt...

…. _afraid_.

She seemingly sensed this and nodded to herself in satisfaction, and skipped off back towards the Church, the basket in her hand.

Ezrah stared after her for awhile in shock, then went back to freeing himself from the mud.

By the time he got loose, he could hear the Church's bells ringing. He'd have to hurry back, or the adults would go looking for him if they found him missing. They'd be upset. He glanced back at the pink egg.

 _Well, at least I'll have one damned egg_ , he thought.

He went to grab it and...

….his hand came back grasping a long, pretty pink ribbon...

….a hair ribbon...

….Millie's ribbon...

Ezrah felt himself sit down heavily on the ground, shaking his head.

 _Man, remind me never to screw with that girl again_...

* * *

Pastor Joseph looked around and smiled as the kids came streaming back out of the woods. He looked on in confusion as for some reason, Millie was busy giving out several of her extra eggs to all of the other children, but shrugged it off, noting that she had had a particularly good hunt this year.

A few minutes later, Ezrah Jenkins came trudging back in, his pants practically ruined with mud. He made it a point to give the other kids a wide berth, simply going over to the snack table to munch sullenly on some cake. Pastor Joseph made a mental note to talk to the kid later. He was a troubled one, anyway, always requiring extra attention...

….his thoughts broke off as he noticed the man in the suit sprinkling...no, _pouring_ something on the ground off to the side of the parents and kids. He frowned and walked over.

"Um...excuse me...um sir?" he said, reaching the man.

"Don't step there, thank you very much," the man grumbled, reaching into his suit jacket and tracing around the design he had made in the ground, pouring another liquid in a circle around it.

Pastor Joseph frowned in irritation. He didn't recognize the man at all...he wasn't a member of his flock...

"What do you think you're doing here?"

The man looked up. "Oh, me? Nothing. I'm the bait."

Pastor Joseph felt a flash of bewilderment. "'Bait'?...What...what are you talking ab..."

He cut off and went rigid as the silent figure of the Priest of the Heralds glided over.

"What is happening here, good Pastor?" the Priest asked, hooded head looking between the two of them. "Who is this man?"

"Actually, I believe that you are looking for me," the man said, straightening up. "Well, your Bosses are, actually."

Pastor Joseph felt a flash of shock as he recognized the man's face...

….from the TV...from all of the Wanted posters...it was one of _them_...one of the _Heretics_...

"Crowley..." hissed the Priest, drawing a wicked looking dagger from his sleeve and pressing it to his chest. The symbol embroidered there began to pulse and flash in a golden light.

"In the flesh, so to speak," Crowley smiled back, eyes twinkling. He put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Now, if the lady wasn't mistaken in her assessment..."

There was a flash of lightning and a crack of thunder. White smoke swirled and a figure appeared out of it. Pastor Joseph gasped. It was one of the Heralds themselves. She stood there, bathed in pulsing light, her eyes narrowed at the Heretic.

"Crowley..." she said. "I'm shocked that you would actually be brave enough to show yourself..."

Crowley titled his head to the side, frowning. "Which one are you? Dopey, Sneezy, or Doc...I get you all confused these days..." he shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Like I was telling my friend here, it has nothing to do with courage, actually, I'm the bait."

The Herald shook her head in confusion. "I'm Sarah, Crowley, and what in the _hell_ are you talking about?"

There was a sudden rush of movement behind her, and Joseph watched as the Priest was shoved bodily backwards with one arm by a man in a trenchcoat and a blue work-tie, knot askew. He continued rushing forward, a lighter in his hand...

Sarah snarled and turned, drawing her sword, lightning dancing from her fingertips...

Flame touched the ground, and a ring of blue fire sprung up from where Crowley had been pouring out liquid onto the ground. Sarah stopped short and snarled.

"Holy Oil?"

"And a Devil's Trap," Crowley nodded, looking at the ground, where there was a red liquid poured out in an intricate pattern. "And to add extra added security, we're on hallowed ground." He nodded and blew out a breath. "I'll be damned, Castiel, the Greek girl was right. It was easy." He shook his head. "I owe Garth ten dollars when we get back."

Joseph watched in shock as the second Heretic strode around the circle, eying Sarah warily. She stared back at him angrily, but seemed trapped. He stopped next to Crowley and nodded back in the direction of the stunned parishioners, who were all watching the scene unfold.

"It worked, you can come out now!" he shouted back in their direction. "We need to take her back to Headquarters, and you said your restraints could bind her!"

Joseph watched as what had looked like a blank patch of forest unfolded and a tall woman dressed in ancient hunting leathers strode out of them and through the silent crowd, who automatically parted, making a path for her. All except one.

Little Millie turner rushed out and yanked on the woman's tunic, causing her to stop. The woman looked down questioningly, but smiled.

"You said I was the first, and that I'd know your name..." Millie said. She tilted her head. "But you never told me...what is it?"

The woman smiled warmly and patted Millie's hand.

She stood up and turned back to Castiel and Crowley, then fixed a steely gaze on Sarah. She reached into her backpack and unwound a long net with leather straps.

"I am called Artemis, Millie Turner, the Goddess of the Hunt. Daughter of Zeus and Leto. And this particular Hunt...," she said, her eyes flashing back at Millie. "...this Hunt was mine."


	8. Order of Loss

**Order of Loss**

"Are you a demon?" Cartaphilus whispered, leaning in close to the bloodied, sweaty man's face. His prisoner averted his blue eyes, turning away, tears mixed with blood staining his face.

It made the Roman feel sick to his stomach.

With a snarl, he whipped his hand around like a scythe, a thunderous blow landing against the captives jaw. The chair that he was bound to fell to the floor with the force of the blow, one of it's legs cracking. The man moaned in pain. Cartaphilus saw him spit out blood, along with a tooth, and stalked a few paces away.

"P...please..." the man croaked. Cartaphilus froze, and with a snarl of rage, spun back around and grabbed the man by the top of his gray, mangled hair. He let out a gasp of pain and surprise, his blue eyes going wide with fear.

"Please what?!" Cartaphilus spat, jerking the man's head back. "Please _what_?! You keep saying that! And you _never._ _Tell_. _Me_. _WHY_!" the Roman screamed, accenting each word with a hard shake.

The man lowered his eyes and Cartaphilus shook him even more violently. There was a hollow crack somewhere deep in the man's neck, and his body immediately went limp and lifeless, slumping to the floor.

The Roman closed his eyes slowly and sighed, trying to calm his frustration. He stood up, turning in the small, cement bricked basement where he had been holding his prisoner.

Well, _prisoners_...

He walked slowly over to a second man tied to a chair, underneath a hanging lamp plugged into the wall and suspended over his head. The man raised his eyes to the Roman.

Blue, piercing eyes, in a grizzled, bearded face. The exact twin to the man lying lifeless on the ground.

"Let's...let's try this again," Cartaphilus hissed, leaning down to stare at 'Cain' at his level. "What are you, and where is the real Cain?"

He heard shifting, scraping noises behind him, and he glanced briefly over his shoulder.

It was just the others, frightened...restless.

The room was filled with chairs, men bound tightly to them.

All of them the mirror image of the Demon Knight known as Cain.

Cartaphilus's eyes closed slowly, anger burning in him. He opened them slowly and turned back to the man in front of him.

"What are you? And where is Cain?"

* * *

"I thought you knew where he was..." Crowley grumbled in disbelief, shifting into 5th gear on the Ferrari racing down the highway.

Castiel blinked and shook his head vehemently. "No, that's not what Gabriel said at all, Crowley. He said that he'd only tell _you_ where he was going. For saftey's sake."

Crowley was silent for a long moment, staring straight ahead down the road, working his jaw.

He suddenly slammed on the brakes as hard as he could with both feet and the red sportscar let out a high-pitched whine of protest, skidding sideways as Crowley yanked the wheel into the skid, keeping it from flipping over. After at least two-hundred yards, it rocked on two tires to a halt, smoke from burning rubber rising up all around it.

Castiel, jostled, looked at him incredulously. "What are you doi...?!"

"Are you trying to tell me..." Crowley cut him off, yelling, his face red, "That the last Archangel that keeps the Gate sealing the Old Ones and complete oblivion away from us, has DITCHED US?!" He gripped the wheel tighter, his knuckles turning white. His brow furrowed pensively, before glaring at Castiel.

"And how on Earth does it make sense to you to just tell _me_ his location for 'safety's sake'? NO ONE TRUSTS ME!"

Castiel shook his head and sighed, rubbing his forehead and turning away. "It actually makes perfect sense, if you think about it for a second."

"Oh please, _do_ go on."

Castiel looked annoyed and sighed deeply again before answering.

"Basic military intelligence strategy, Crowley. If we were captured and tortured for information, it would be much better if you had that said information."

Crowley frowned, leaning back. "How's that?"

"If they got the information out of me, somehow, they could trust it. If you told them, well...you just said it yourself; no one trust syou. The enemy would assume that you were lying to them. Or sending them into a trap." He shrugged. "It made perfect sense to me."

Crowley stared at Castiel, his jaw and grip on the wheel relaxing a bit. He turned back to the road and shrugged slightly.

"Hnh," he grunted thoughtfully, as he put the car back in gear and righted them onto the road, speeding back up.

"Told you," Castiel replied, leaning his head back on his seat. "Still, we have a serious problem now."

Crowley tilted his head in exaggerated agreement, smiling tightly. "Oh, yes, I would say so, choir-boy. If we can't find Gabriel before about three different other factions do, he's in for a world of hurt. And the rest of creation right along with him."

Castiel nodded. "What do we do now?", he asked, staring out of the window. "This was our first assignment on this journey. Rowena is questioning the Herald that we caught. Depending on how well _that_ goes, we might find out where Cain is. We were supposed to find Gabriel, and control the last two pieces of the Gate." He sighed. "And now we have no idea where he even is."

"It's dangerous enough for us to be out in the open at all," Crowley agreed, turning down an exit ramp on Highway 110 into Los Angeles. "We're soon to be deep in enemy territory here. And now the Heralds are all stirred up after we caught one of them. I'm positive they won't fall for any more tricks. If we're spotted, they'll bring the entire hoard with them."

Castiel shook his head. "We're blind."

Crowley said nothing while they pulled into the suburbs, heading back to the Resistance HQ. "So, if I were a git Angel that has a penchant for pulling tricks on people..." he said after awhile.

Castiel looked at him and snorted. "Well, you're not wrong about that. Gabriel loved his tricks. What was it Sam and Dean used to call him?"

Crowley slowed down and pulled to a stop, his eyes widening. "Trickster. They called him Trickster."

Castiel looked puzzled. "Yeah, that's it...Crowley, you have that look on your face..."

Crowley frowned. "What look?"

"That look you get when you are about to go try to...do something Demoney."

Crowley's frown deepened. "'Demoney?"

Castiel nodded. "That."

Crowley grinned wickedly. "All I am thinking about is that we may have an inside track back at headquarters as to Gabriel's whereabouts...that is if my mother and her Coven..."

"Mega-Coven..."

"I am _refusing_ to call it that," Crowley answered petulantly before clearing his throat. "We need to check on their progress on those portals they've been opening."

Castiel frowned. "You think Gabriel went to one of those other realms?"

Crowley smiled. "Counting on it."

Castiel's brows knitted together questioningly.

"Which one?"

* * *

A ceramic beer mug flew through the air and shattered in a thousand pieces agaisnt the hardened wooden wall. Mead splattered out of it and Crowley flinched back. Then, with a look of disgust, he wiped it away.

"Bloody Vikings..."

The Hall of Valhalla was enormous.

Wooden beams supported a ceiling that was so far above their heads, they couldn't make it out. It was either that, or the smoke from a thousand pipes or wood fires obscured it.

Men in glistening armor feasted and laughed and sang and grabbed at serving girls all over the great hall. Castiel shook his head in disapproval and looked back at Crowley.

"Are you sure?"

Crowley nodded. "Pretty sure. One of the names of Odin's sons was Loki, also known as the Trickster God. The Winchester's told me that several of the Gods, including Kali, recognized him by that name when he showed up in that hotel."

Castiel nodded in return, speaking loudly to be heard over the ruckus. "But what makes you think that he's here?"

Crowley looked at him and leaned back in mock surprise. "Don't they teach you anything in Angel Academy, or wherever it is they send you before you go wipe out other religions?" Castiel only rolled his eyes in response. "He _has_ to be here, Castiel, it's an anchor to this Realm's laws. Here, I'll show you..." he looked around the Hall until his gaze settled on Odin, who was seated high above the Hall in a raised seat, neither eating nor drinking mead. He sipped at a goblet of wine, and two large black ravens sat on his shoulders and cawed into his ear on occasion. Crowley nodded and started in that direction, waving Castiel forward.

They were challenged by a couple of large Asgardians on the way up, but Castiel easily shouldered them out of the way, much to their surprise and chagrin. A couple of them thought it well done for 'such a little fellow', and clapped him on the back. Castiel grimaced and shot a rebuking look at Crowley.

Odin smiled when he saw them and stood up.

"Welcome to Valhalla!" he shouted cheerily as he clapped them on the shoulders. "What can I do for you two gentlemen? I must once again send my appreciation to your dear mother, Mr. Crowley. It has been centuries since the realm of Midgard was open to me and mine."

Crowley smiled tightly. "I'll be...sure to do that." He glanced around, frowning ."Is there someplace...um...quieter that we can talk?"

Odin grinned and guided them behind his seat into a back chamber, slamming a large stone door carved in Runic symbols behind them. The cacophony of the Hall was immediately muted.

"Now, what can the Lord of Asgard do for you? Does the fight come here?" he asked, a glimmer of something like madness and hope sparking in his one eye.

"Not exactly, I'm afraid." Crowley answered, looking around the small chamber. The walls were stone, and trophies of all sorts were hung on wooden pegs all around them, enormous wolf pelts, and some things that Crowley could only guess at their origin. His gaze settled back on Odin.

"Can you take us to Loki?"

Odin paled. "Loki?" he replied grimly, sitting down heavily in one of the fur-lined chairs. "Why would you want to see him?"

"We just need to make sure that he's OK, you know, all safe and sound..."

Odin paled further, all traces of humor leaving his face. "Your...way with words is quite unsettling...do you actually know of the circumstances of Loki's prison here in Asgard?"

"Prison?" Castiel interjected, looking at Crowley, who smiled at Odin, ignoring him.

"Counting on it, actually," Crowley answered. "It's one of the few copies of Gab...er...Loki, that he would have had to maintain when the realm of Asgard was manifested. I need to make sure of it."

Odin nodded. "Believe me, Mr. Crowley. If he were gone, we would know of it."

"Humor me."

Odin nodded and led them out of the back room and back out of the Hall, into the frozen, snowy night. He began to trudge towards a mountain nestled up against the Hall, walking a trail towards a door in the rock.

"What prison?" Castiel hissed at Crowley.

Crowley shrugged. "If I'm not mistaken, he was held responsible for the death of Baldur."

"That was Lucifer," Castiel replied hotly.

Crowley nodded. "On Earth, yes. But you have to remember, these realms are like parallel dimensions. Here, according to their mythology, it was Loki. And as punishment, they...er...'imprisoned' him."

Castiel frowned. "Imprisoned him how?"

Odin had reached the door and slumped, visibly weary. "It was a very hard decision for us. I loved Loki as my own son, for my part."

Castiel tilted his head. "He wasn't your son, he was an Archangel."

"Actually, here, he was the adopted son of a Frost-giant" Crowley broke in. Castiel stared at him. Crowley shrugged. "Sorry. Seriously, though, have you never read a book on mythology, Castiel?"

Castiel shrugged. "It never seemed important."

"He is bound here in the mountain;" Odin continued, ignoring them both. "Bound in the entrails of his son, his lover catching the poison of a serpent that slowly drips onto him, causing him agony. Here, bound for all eternity."

Castiel paled and stared at Odin. He then turned back to Crowley.

"Annnnd...you think that Gabriel has come _here_? To _that_?"

Crowley shrugged. "Responsibilities, my dear Castiel. If he isn't here, it means..."

Odin held up a hand and touched the Runes on the door. "Let us not speak of the unspeakable, friends. Come, let us go and visit Loki." The door slid slowly open with a deep grating sound, and heated air belched out at them. The three of them ducked inside and looked up to a small stone tablet there, ropes of gore and entrails lay all around it.

Cut.

A woman knelt by them, holding a small bowl. She was crying. Over her head, an enormous serpent hissed and recoiled from the sudden blast of cold air.

There was no one on the table.

Odin hissed through his teeth and rushed over to the woman.

"Gone?! When? How? Woman, speak to me!"

The lady looked up to him and shook her head. "No less than three days hence, Odin, All-Father. Her face twisted into a smile, a smile devoid of any kind of humor or warmth, a smile of pure hatred. "Your Realm is finished."

Castiel leaned towards Crowley. "Crowley, what does it mean if Loki isn't manifest here in Asgard? You said that their entire Realm depended on that. Why? What does it mean?"

Odin looked up and frowned at the two of them. He stood up and clasped his hands behind his back, his glare from his one eye penetrating and fixed.

"It means the end of Asgard, Angel. It means Ragnarok is upon us."

* * *

Michael stood in the center of the cleared out boulevard, hands clenched at his sides, his sword strapped to his back. Lucifer stood behind him, watching.

"I call to You, Lion of Judah!" he screamed into the air. "He who is I am! He who was once my Father, returned to the World as His Son! He who as a Lamb died for the Sins of the World! I call to You!"

Lucifer winced. "Bro, are you _sure_ this is a good idea...?"

Micheal looked back at him, eyes blazing. "He is nothing to us anymore, Brother! We are more than He ever was! I say that it is long past time that we put Him down!" He turned back towards the sky. "Where are You?!"

The sky seemed to shimmer and waver, the air itself seeming to warp. A golden light filled the sky, bathing the street. Lucifer squinted into the light, and saw a figure standing there, striding forward patiently.

With a hiss of metal, Michael drew his sword.

"Finally," he whispered. He looked back at Lucifer, who felt himself flinch back a bit at what he saw there in his brother's eyes.

Sheer madness.

"...it ends..."


	9. The Messiah

**The Messiah**

A figure bathed in golden light stood in the middle of the street. Michael sneered.

"Have You come to meet your end, Father?" Michael shouted, drawing his sword. It lit with fire so bright that the air seemed to warp around it.

A voice came out of the light. "I am not your Father, Michael."

Michael's sneer wavered, uncertain. "Of course you are...it doesn't matter to me which form you take..."

The voice spoke again, the figure growing steadily larger as he walked forward slowly, almost casually.

"It isn't about the form, Michael, it was never about the form. It is about intention and will. I _was_ the Creator. And you are simply one of my old creations."

Michael visibly flinched back. "Old...creations...?"

"A failed experiment. All of this. I have created and watched the universe fall apart or be torn asunder more times than can be counted."

The figure came into view, a brownish-skinned man in robes, his arms bare and heavily muscled. His movements were almost leonine in their grace, but powerful, like a tiger ready to spring.

He also looked very sad.

"This one was to last, Michael, it was _built_ to last. All balances were accounted for. But you...you and your brother..." His eyes flicked to Lucifer, who stood a ways back, looking very wary. At the glance, Lucifer raised his chin, a gesture that could have meant defiance, or respectful acknowledgment.

"You wanted it all for yourselves. Well, _you_ , maybe, had another reason..." he added, shrugging, his eyes turning slowly back to Michael.

"What's that? "Michael asked, his voice cracking a bit with emotion.

Judah's eyes sparked in rage and condemnation.

"That reason being that you are nothing but a whiny child, thinking that I abandoned and had 'forsaken' you there in that Cage."

Michael rocked back as if struck, his eyes going wide.

"But, you _did_ , Father...you most certainly did that...! You left me there, your most loyal son, to rot! For eternity!" he hissed. Tears welled up in his eyes.

The edge of Judah's mouth twitched up in a sad smile. He shook his head.

"You petulant child. It was you that decided to take matters into your own hands and try to trigger an Apocalypse. On no instruction from me whatsoever, mind you. It was _you_ that set events in motion that would expose this Creation to the powers of Darkness and Purgatory. It was _you_ that seized the mantle of control of Heaven when I was away. Instead of acting as it's steward, as you were _ordered_ to do, you assumed that I was _dead_ and seized power for yourself...don't you _see_ it, Michael?"

"See _what_?!" Michael roared back defiantly. "You _did_ leave us! You _did_ abandon us! Go ahead! _Deny it_! See _WHAT_?!"

Judah didn't react. His composure remained calm and cool.

"That the punishment that your brother received for attempting to overthrow Heaven - his imprisonment in the Cage - _you_ so richly deserved as well." His eyes moved back and forth between the two of them, and he smiled and lowered his head, shaking it in amusement. "I should have seen it coming myself, actually. You two are so alike, no wonder you ended up following the exact same path." He took a deep breath and his face became serious. His head rose slowly to them.

"I said that I _was_ the Creator, Michael. I said it is all about intent and will. Now, I am the Destroyer. You have forced my hand. I cannot allow the Darkness to seep into this Creation and stop it in place for all eternity. You wanted an Apocalypse so badly? Fine. Let's start with the two of you."

Michael snarled and ran forward. "We'll see about that!"

There was a flash of light from Judah, engulfing Michael's charging form. Lucifer flinched back. He saw Michael's body inside of it, throwing Angelic and Demonic power all around him, screaming. The ground shook and a pillar of fire rose into the sky with a whistling scream like a tornado. Windows blew out all around them, and Lucifer was pelted with the broken glass, squinting into the light, trying to catch sight of his brother.

The amount of energy and sheer power Michael was wielding was staggering. Lucifer squinted and saw that Judah had both of Michael's arms held tightly by the wrist, and subtle, almost gentle waves of energy were visible coming off of him as well, but unlike Micheal's blasts of raw, volcanic, uncontrolled energy, Judah's flowed and danced in a rhythmic, hypnotic, pattern, like petals drifting on a slow spring breeze.

Lucifer's shock grew as he noticed that it was not only stopping Michael's attack cold, it was also _containing_ both of their released energies, keeping it from ripping the literal world apart. Lucifer involuntarily smiled at the irony.

 _I guess you want to rip the world apart on your own terms, then, huh?_ he thought wryly. He held up an arm over his face as there was a strobe of brilliant golden light, blinding him. He blinked and not only saw, but felt that the brief fight was over.

He saw a figure kneeling over a prone form, breathing heavily. Lucifer took a few steps forward, then stopped.

Judah's robe was in tatters. He was kneeling over Michael's unconscious form, his own face covered in cuts and bruises, and blood flowed from a dozen wounds.

Michael looked much, much worse.

The man looked up at Lucifer and shook his head.

"I...sense that you would defy me as well, Lucifer. But now...somehow _now_ is not your time..." he said, standing up, grasping his side. He met Lucifer's eyes and glared at him. His head whipped around as if he sensed something, then he sighed deeply and turned away.

"So, that was the reason behind your temporary reprieve. This Creation is under attack, Lucifer, from the powers that you have unleashed. A great Realm is about to die. I will...go and witness their demise." The sad look returned to his face.

He turned to look over his shoulder. "I will return for you." He glanced down at Michael. "Before the end, go ahead and see to your brother. I'm afraid that you will find him...more than slightly diminished from where he was before our conflict. See to him. Judge and measure what has happened to him, and how I have brought him down. And mark my words. You _will_ be next."

Lucifer felt a cold chill go down his spine. He was shocked at that. _Fear_...he hadn't felt actual fear since...

…..since Father had cast him down the first time.

The Lion of Judah kept staring at Lucifer until he nodded and turned away.

And then he was gone.

Lucifer stared down at Michael, who was at least still breathing.

Barely.

He gathered him up and flew back to Heaven's throne room, laying him on one of the couches there.

Several hours later, Lucifer, who had moved to one of the chairs himself to read, heard a groan coming from the couch.

No...not a groan...instead...a...

He rushed over to his Brother, looking down at him in confusion.

"Are...are you OK?"

Michael, despite his body and power being bloodied and broken beyond measure, was laughing... _laughing_...

That cold chill repeated itself down Lucifer's spine.

* * *

The moon over Asgard started to disappear. As Castiel looked up at it, squinting, he swore that it looked as if the fangs of some monstrous wolf were swallowing it whole.

The seas near the great Hall of Valhalla writhed and stormed, and dark shapes moved underneath the waves, churning them further, lurking...

…. _or one gigantic shape_ , Castiel corrected himself, feeling a chill.

Odin, donning his armor and weapons, was grinning like an idiot.

"This is _it_ , lads! The Dawn of the Gods! Ragnarok is here!"

"Can't possible imagine why you'd be _happy_ about that," Crowley grumbled under his breath, casting a dark look at Odin, while sorting through an array of Asgardian knives.

"Oh, only because it is only the largest, and the _final_ battle, Mr. Crowley!" Odin roared, unperturbed. "Fenris Wolf swallows the Moon and the Sun...and then me!" Odin added, winking his one good eye. "The Midgard Serpent will beach it's massive head upon the shore and with venom and fang destroy the Thunder God, and the Old Gods will be destroyed!"

Crowley sighed, letting the knife he was holding fall back into the rather large pile of weapons in Odin's armory with a loud clatter.

"And, once again, why are you so bloody cheerful about that, reindeer-breath?", Crowley asked, annoyed.

Odin nodded, still grinning. He sheathed a great broadsword conceivably large enough to cut an ox in half in one swing and slung it over his back. He then began to don fine leather and chainmail gloves.

"We are a culture of warriors and destruction, Mr. Crowley. This final battle means a lot to us."

"Oh, I get it, I really do. Any opportunity whatsoever to club each other lethally over the head – who could argue with that kind of fun?"

Odin grinned tightly. "It also means something after it's over, Mr. Crowley." He finished girding his armor and straightened up, turning his eye towards Crowley. "Can you guess what that is?"

"A very long and deep nap?"

Odin shook his head. "Rebirth, Mr. Crowley. After destruction – rebirth." His expression became more serious. "The sons and daughters of the Asgardian Gods will rebuild the world, Mr. Crowley, in green fields with golden flowers. It is the way of all life, Mr. Crowley. Death and rebirth." He shook his head. "We move on. I have existed for a very long time, my Demonic friend. Longer than most Gods. My time has finally arrived."

Crowley shared a look with Castiel, who shook his head, then looked back out into the sea.

"What if it doesn't?" Crowley asked, his voice lower.

Odin frowned. "Excuse me?"

"What if...what if there is no rebirth...what if this is simply the end?"

Odin grimaced. "No, no, Mr. Crowley. That's not how it works. I know." He fixed him with a glare. "I did not sacrifice myself on the World Tree for nothing, you know. I gained foresight and wisdom there. Trust me. I know how this ends. And more importantly, what comes after."

Crowley looked at him doubtfully, shrugged and looked back to Castiel. Castiel, not turning his gaze away, closed his eyes and shook his head slowly.

"I think that _was_ the plan, Odin. But I also have the feeling that that plan has changed."

Odin watched him silently for awhile. He finally shook his head and cleared his throat.

"Well, you Angels don't know everything, now do you? I do. I've paid the price for that knowledge to the very powers that run this universe - and that means yours as well, before you point out the obvious - so I think I'll stick with my version of events, if that's ok with you." He shrugged in his armor and headed to the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a rather large battle to participate in. Feel free to come and watch, or join in, if you feel brave enough." He smiled, but the look of confidence that he had on his face before was not as confident.

He was gone for several moments before Crowley exhaled loudly. Castiel turned toward him, eyebrow raised in question.

"Well, what's the verdict? Deluded?", Crowley asked.

Castiel grunted. "I think that he believes what he believes." He frowned, considering, before he shook his head. "I also think that he's wrong. These Realms," he said, waving his arm around, indicating the room, "they are only dimensional branches from the true one. And if that one falls, these fall with it."

Crowley tilted his head. "Demons, you know, we aren't so up to date on the construction of the universe...the Angels tend to keep that particular trade secret pretty...well, _secret_...know what I mean? Do you mind explaining?"

Castiel nodded. "Of course...you know how parallel dimensions work, right?"

"Something about the so-called Butterfly Effect, if I'm not mistaken," Crowley answered. "Every decision or change in the overall pattern of reality, no matter how minuscule or large, creates a new reality, a new time-line. The effect is the creation of infinite parallel dimensions."

Castiel nodded again. "Exactly. And belief plays a role. The more decisions and events that occur that support, say, an Asgardian reality, the more Asgard becomes the most probable reality, because it has more branches, so to say, of possibilities that make Asgard real. The more that believe in Heaven and Hell, and decisions are based on that belief, the stronger those realities and possibilities become." He paused, and Crowley nodded in return.

"With you so far, go on."

"Well, Heaven and Hell is the most manifested belief, and God plays by those rules. He is flexible, since He basically created all of these realities anyway. This one, Asgard, is a very slim possibility now, it's belief and probability are almost all gone."

"Let me get this straight," Crowley interrupted. "If I hear you correctly, if more people in the universe started to believe and act based on the belief, of say, unicorns, then God would become a magical unicorn?"

Castiel raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Don't get any ideas, Crowley, and to answer your question: yes. But don't for a second think that it's easy to do this. You aren't talking about just the Earth, after all, and your actions would have to have an echo-effect in uncountable alternate realities before such an effect could take place." He sighed. "No, God is God for a reason." He looked back out at the sea. "Your mother was able to call these alternate Realms to the more 'true' one because the Fates helped her to do it. They are the guardians of all of the possible realities. They can access any of them. Rowena just has to provide the correct focus." He took and deep breath and let it out.

"But it was a huge risk, as we're now seeing. If the truer, actual reality is dying, these offshoot ones like Asgard will be the first to go, being the least powerful."

Crowley scratched at his beard, considering. "What happens if it just 'dies' outright, as you are saying?"

Castiel's jaw tensed. "Well, for one, you can forget that 'rebirth' thing." He pointed out of the window at the moon, now nearly fully dark. "And what is manifesting here as some kind of gigantic killer Wolf, that's no Wolf..."

"What is it then?"

"It's an Old One. A true Elder God. The beliefs of this realm give it this form. But the energy and malice that it's projecting are unmistakable. When it destroys this Realm, there will be _nothing_ left."

"That's remarkably accurate, Castiel," a voice from the corner of the room came out of nowhere. "You were always one of the smarter ones. Or...at least you spent a lot more time in Heaven's libraries. More than your brothers, I am sad to say. Perhaps if they spent more time in them, none of this would be happening right now."

Castiel whipped around towards the source of the voice, squinting. Crowley stumbled back a step, grabbing a sword out a large pile of them. "What the bloody...?!"

A man in robes stepped out of the shadows, and let his hood fall back from his face. Castiel's jaw dropped open.

"No...you..."

"Who?!" Crowley asked, eyes flicking back from Castiel to the intruder. "Who is that?"

"I'll give you a hint," the man said, turning his head slightly. " _Christo_..."

Crowley growled and fell backwards immediately, grasping at his chest in pain. Black smoke rose from him in small waves. He looked at the man, eyes wide.

"You...you... _you're_...?"

The man held up a hand. "Call me Judah, now. And do not worry, Demon, I am not here to destroy you, or you'd be dead already." He turned his gaze out towards the sky and moved over to stand next to Castiel at the window. Castiel followed him with his eyes, his mouth still hanging open.

"Father...?"

Judah gave him a pained smile. "No. I am not your Father. I just got through explaining that to your big brothers..."

Castiel's eyes widened. "Michael...Lucifer..."

Judah nodded. "Still alive. Well, Lucifer is anyway. What I left of Michael..." He shook his head.

Castiel stared, before turning his head away, eyes closed in disbelief and pain. "Your _son_..."

"My _creation_ ," Judah corrected harshly. "One that was growing too dangerous to allow to continue."

Castiel looked back at Judah, eyes now filled with anger.

"So, you really are here to destroy creation, aren't you?"

Judah looked back, equally as stern. Castiel flinched a little, but did not look away. "I have no choice left. Michael and Lucifer's hybrid energies are going to turn everything into an uncontrollable, gray, dead, unchangeable mass. There will be no Creation more. I have to stop it now."

"By destroying _everything_?!"

"Rebirth from death," Judah replied dryly. "Odin may have had a point there."

"So, why are you here, anyway?" Crowley said, joining them at the window, but keeping a respectable distance from Judah, keeping Castiel between them. "For the show?"

Judah smiled humorously.

"It's Ragnarok, isn't it? It's going to be...enlightening to see this realm die."

Crowley looked back at Castiel, who was still staring at Judah. His eyes had gone from simple anger and frustration to pure fury.

"Come on, Crowley," he said hotly, brushing past Judah without a look back.

Crowley frowned and hurried after the Angel.

"Where are we going?"

"I suddenly actually do have a desire to fight something," Castiel growled. "At least... _someone_ around here has to care," he added in a spiteful hiss.

If Judah heard him, he didn't show it.

He simply clasped his hands behind his back, and stared up at the darkened moon.


	10. Next Genesis

**Next Genesis**

Cartaphilus sighed, took a deep breath, and wiped the blood off of his gladius, first flicking the excess off with a jerk of his arm, then dutifully wiping down the blade with a dark towel, whose original color was now completely unknowable.

When he was finished, and the blade reflected the light of the hanging lightbulbs cleanly again, he sheathed it and walked slowly over to the last chair, the last 'Cain', and looked down at his defiant eyes.

"So, it's down to you and me..." he said wearily. "And don't believe for a _second_ that since you're the last...well... _whatever_ it is that you actually are,...damnable thing...that I'll go easy on you." He smiled slightly. "It'll just mean that I have to go hunting for some more of you. And something tells me that I'll be able to find plenty." He studied the thing's face for a long moment, then pulled away and clasped his hands behind his back, turning away.

"So, let us begin...you are about to plead like a helpless kitten again...I believe the word will be 'Please'..."

There was only silence. Cartaphilus glanced back over his shoulder, frowning.

"No? Do you actually have something else to say to me?" he said, striding quickly over and yanking violently back on the gray-streaked mane of 'Cain's' head. The blue eyes stared back defiantly.

"Come on...let me help you!" the Roman hissed. " _Please_..."

"...end your quest to find and destroy the Mark." 'Cain' replied, sneering.

Cartaphilus blinked in surprise, leaning back, but maintaining his iron grip on 'Cain's' head. "What was that?" he whispered in question, tilting his head.

"You heard me damned good and well, Roman," the thing replied, his mouth twitching up in a sarcastic smile. "Cut it out."

At this Cartaphilus let go and took a step back. "You're not like the others, are you...?" he muttered. He leaned forward, looking closer. "What are you then? What are any of these things?"

'Cain' just stared.

With a whisper, the gladius was clear of it's scabbard, it's tip resting lightly on the middle of 'Cain's' throat.

"I hate repeating myself," he said simply.

'Cain' shook his head. "I can't just let you destroy the Mark, Cartaphilus...look, I know you got a bum deal, believe me...but I'm not about to let you, or those two ass-clowns Michael and Lucifer unleash the Old Ones on the entire Universe." He frowned, looking away, reflecting . "Funny. A few years ago, I wouldn't have cared. In fact, I was on the other team. But you know what? I've kinda come to love these wacky creatures known as the human race." He sighed and looked around the room, at the slumped corpses tied to chairs, and bodies strewn across the cement floor. "I had thought that after a while you'd get the message and give up. But your...insistence...has made me come all the way down here to convince you in person. So, once again; _please_...with sugar on top...go back to whatever hole you've been holding up in and stop looking for the Mark."

Cartaphilus' eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

'Cain's' features blurred, the gray hair giving way to short-unkempt blond, the eyes becoming more narrow and playful, the chin longer. Cartaphilus took a step back, holding his sword in a defensive guard.

"You're an _Angel_..."

"Archangel, actually," the man said, standing up easily, the bonds falling away to the floor as if they weren't even there. "To put more fine a point on it, the _last_ Archangel...and these guys were just a couple of copies I made to get in your way. Pity that didn't work. It was kinda funny for a little while there. And I love a good trick..."

"Gabriel..." the Roman whispered. He stared, then his mouth curled up into a satisfied smile. " _Molto bene_...I've been looking for you as well."

Gabriel tilted his head mockingly. "You have? Whatever for?"

"To destroy you as well, of course," Cartaphilus growled. "You need to be gone for the Gate to fall, after all."

Gabriel huffed out a breath. "Wow, someone here has an over-inflated opinion of themselves. What makes you think you can take me, big-boy?" he finished, lowering his chin menacingly.

Cartaphilus' smile widened. "Your Father, actually. I cannot be killed. I've spent centuries acquiring spell-craft, arcane strength and power. How do you kill something like me?"

"I don't need to kill you, I just need to keep you on ice for awhile."

Cartaphilus raised his sword. "And how do you propose to do that, Archangel? Not even the leader of the Knights of Hell can stop me..."

"Brute force..." Gabriel answered.

The door to the basement exploded open in a shower of wooden shards, and in a blur, Cartaphilus spun instinctively, holding up his arm as a shield to keep them out of his face and eyes. In the space of that motion, a small middle eastern girl sprang forward and punched Cartaphilus in the jaw, the sound echoing around the small basement like a cannonball. He flew across the room and hit the concrete bricks of the wall and rebounded off of it, leaving a car-sized dent of crumbling stone. He hit the ground face first and did not move.

"Thanks Kinsey," Gabriel nodded.

"No problem," she answered, shaking her fist. "Ow, by the way. What the hell is this guy?"

"Not something to be messed with," Gabriel answered. "And someone I didn't have this time to waste on, and also had no intention of taking on one-on-one."

Kinsey frowned, looking at the prone figure. "That dangerous?"

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. "Oh yeah...believe me, I do seriously appreciate the She-Hulk punch there, girly."

Kinsey nodded. "So, now what?"

Gabriel sighed. "Now we put him in as deep and dark a hole as we can find. Then we bury that hole." He frowned and looked up at the ceiling. "He's already cost me too much of my time and energy. I hope it doesn't mean the end of Asgard...I kinda liked that place. The mead is fantastic..."

Kinsey looked up at him, puzzled. "Huh?"

"Never mind..." Gabriel said, shaking his head. "Pick _that_ up, and let's get the hell out of here. Maybe it's not too late."

* * *

The vanguard of the Asgardian warriors clashed on the long beach against the undead armies of Hel. Lightning flew from one of the forms battling against an impossibly huge snake that had rose from the sea like a skyscraper, and whose head thrashed and spit and bit on the shore, scattering Asgardians by the dozens with every shake of it's mouth. Hel herself stood on a rock in the middle of a roiling and violent sea, flinging black lightning bolts in answer to the ones flying from Thor's hammer.

A little further up the rocky slope leading from the shore, Odin laughed like a maniac while stabbing with his spear at a Wolf literally the size of a small town. It's bristles seemed to brush the night sky, and it's teeth gnashed and bit, ripping out holes from the ground and hillside and flinging them into the defenders of the Hall, flattening them.

"And you want to go fight in _that_?" Crowley asked Castiel incredulously.

Castiel lowered his chin. "I have to do something, Crowley..."

"Look, I understand, truly... _but_..." Crowley answered, pointing down emphatically at the massive carnage below.

Castiel turned towards him. "Those are Old Ones," he said. "Those things can't be allowed to win here, Crowley, don't you get that? They won't stop with this Realm. They'll devour it and just move right along." He closed his eyes and shook his head, his Angel's Blade glowing light blue in the night air. "No. This ends now."

He opened his eyes and strode down into the war, his blade swinging like a scythe and scattering the undead warriors on the fringes of the battle like leaves before a gale. Crowley watched and sighed heavily.

"You have to admire his courage," a voice from behind him said.

"Huh," Crowley grunted, not turning around ."Makes one wonder, though doesn't it?"

"About what, exactly?" Judah asked in return, moving to stand next to Crowley.

"About where he gets it from," Crowley answered coolly. He turned his head to stare directly at Judah, contempt written all over his face. "Because as sure as I'm standing here, it doesn't run in the family."

Judah smiled tightly, not looking at Crowley, rather keeping his gaze fixed on the battle below.

"You call _me_ a coward, Demon? That's funny. While your friend down there fights for his life, and you stay behind..."

"He can handle himself, believe me," Crowley answered. "And if he does get into serious trouble, who's to say that yours truly here won't rush in like the bleeding cavalry to pull him out of it?"

At this Judah did turn towards him. "Would you?"

"Damned right I would."

"Interesting." Judah answered pensively before turning slowly back to the battle, saying nothing more. Castiel had been trying to reach Odin, but the All-Father had literally climbed into the massive Wolf's mouth and was swinging wildly at it's tree-sized teeth, chipping and breaking a few away. One of them flew off into a group of Asgardian's and impaled one of them there onto the hillside, but Odin, heedless and laughing like a berserker, just continued hacking and slashing away.

There was a cry of dismay further down along the beach as Thor was gutted from one of the serpent's fangs. At almost precisely the same time, he had driven a spear up into the monster's mouth. It writhed it's entire body in it's death throes, causing tidal waves to come crashing onto the shore.

There was a whump of air and Crowley turned back to watch as the Wolf closed it's massive jaws, swallowing Odin whole. Castiel stopped, staring, and with a yell, drove towards the massive beast and plunged his Blade into it's eye. It reared back in pain, ripping the Blade free. Castiel fell to the ground and scrambled back up, but the Wolf, half blinded, could only thrash about aimlessly trying to find him.

"It ends," Judah said, his voice barely a whisper. "Odin and his sons are fallen. This Realm has no more champions left. Soon, the Old Ones will rip it from Creation and consume it whole." He turned back towards Crowley. "You should leave. There's nothing left for you here."

"Awwww...don't be so glum..." a cheery voice said from behind them. Crowley went stiff, recognizing it. "Looks like good old 'Loki' here arrived just in time to stop this..."

" _No_..."Crowley whispered in shock.

Judah turned around slowly to face the newcomer.

"Who you got here, Crowley? Doesn't look like the typical rough-and-tumble Viking to me. Looks more like..." Gabriel quipped, moving forward. His eyes narrowed and he stopped walking, going rigid. His jaw fell slowly open.

" _No_...what are you doing here _now_ you complete _idiot_...?" Crowley hissed.

Judah grinned.

"Gabriel. How...fortunate. I've been looking for you. There's a little matter about a Gate that I'd like to discuss with you..."

"Oh...holy _crap_..." Gabriel said, recognition entering his eyes.

* * *

"Michael...what? Micheal...are you OK? Tell me!" Lucifer yelled, shaking his brother, who still shook with laughter.

"So...typical..." Michael croaked.

"WHAT?!" Lucifer shouted, shaking his brother harder, making him groan a bit in pain. "Tell me!"

* * *

"Gabriel, get out of here!" Crowley shouted. "He's going to ….damn it all... _Castiel_! Castiel, get your feathery ass back over here and help me!"

Judah looked back at Crowley and raised a eyebrow quizzically. Crowley felt himself go cold, his breath leaving his body. Down on the battlefield, even amidst the cacophony of the war, Castiel had apparently heard Crowley's shout and was racing back up the hill.

Things seemed to move in slow motion. Judah's smile faded and he turned away from Crowley. White light began to build up around his fists. Gabriel's eyes widened until they were as big as saucers, then he turned on one foot as if to sprint away...

* * *

Michael opened his bruised and blackened eyes, tears streaming down from the corners. He was still convulsing in laughter.

Lucifer let go and stepped back.

"Did you...oh, Michael, tell me...did that actually...? Did you _actually_...?"

Michael's swollen and cracked lips parted into a wider smile.

"Like I said...so typical Father...he never saw it coming...so focused on his wrath and vengeance..."

Lucifer's eyes got wider. "It...it... _worked_...? Michael, I thought that he'd _killed_ you...!"

* * *

Judah's hand shot out and white light streamed from it, striking Gabriel square in the back. At that moment, Castiel crested the hill and ran past Crowley, nearing knocking him over, his eyes wide in panic and fear.

"Nooooooooooooo! Father, no!" he screamed out hoarsely, his arm outstretched towards Judah as the white energy crackled and burned and spit all over Gabriel's body.

Then, Gabriel...

….turned around, _unharmed_...a look of utter disbelief on his face.

* * *

"I told you to trust me, brother," Michael said, sobering, but still smiling very widely. "I knew that if we'd force God's hand, that He'd choose to become Vengeance and Destruction...and He's just so damned _focused_ when He's like this...never paying any attention to the bigger picture...'Burn Sodom!', 'Wipe out the First Born!'..." Michael mocked, shaking his head. "And He thought we were just like always; his stupid, thoughtless children, never having a bigger plan, just following His lead..." He closed his eyes. "Did you hear him, Lucifer? Hear Him lecturing me on how we would bring Creation to a stand-still? He actually thought _that_ was what we wanted. That _that_ was our ultimate goal...so short-sighted...never giving us any damned credit..." He laughed again, grasping his side and wincing in pain as he did so, the tears running down his face anew. He opened his eyes and met Lucifer's. "He never saw it coming, brother...I know it was hard for you to let me do this..."

"You are _not_ kidding!" Lucifer exclaimed. "I thought you were a goner there!" He turned around and ran a shaking hand through his hair. "But, Michael, what you're saying is...it _worked_ , right? You got it? You _actually_ were able to steal it from Him without His noticing?

Michael's bloodshot eyes twinkled. "Like I said; So. Damned. Focused."

Lucifer stopped breathing and took a step back, his eyes wide in reverence.

"Show me..." he whispered.

* * *

"What...what just happened...?" Gabriel whispered, holding out his arms and brushing at himself, checking for any damage.

"I...I..." Castiel stammered, looking at Judah, who in turn was staring at Gabriel in disbelief. Then he looked down at his own empty hands.

"Michael..." Judah whispered. Then he sank to his knees, still staring at his empty palms.

"What? What did Michael do?!" Crowley asked frantically.

"He...I mean, I knew that it was always a danger to confront them while they wielded the power of Darkness...they could hide their intention from me...counter my Power...the fight with Michael...it was easy... _too_ easy...I can see that now...he _let_ me use my power on him...he absorbed it...hid it in Darkness...but I never thought that he would take..."

"Take? Take what? What did he take from you?!"

Judah looked up at Crowley, his eyes in total shock.

"Everything."

* * *

Lucifer stared down at wonder at the shimmering red and black rose that grew directly from Michael's hand.

Michael smiled and flung his other hand out at the empty marble floor. Green grass and flowers began to bloom everywhere, then plants and flora that Lucifer had never seen on earth began to grow among those as well. He gasped and sat down heavily in the Throne of Heaven.

"Behold, brother, the Power of God..." Michael whispered. "The Power of Creation itself..." He closed his fist, crushing the flower, it's leaves turning to black sand that ran between his fingers. He smiled and turned towards Lucifer. "You know what, brother? I think the universe is a long time overdue for a little bit of re-modeling, don't you agree?"


End file.
